Do you ever find something you wrote a long time ago and amaze yourself with how smart you were? Sometimes I think we need to remind ourselves how much we really know. Many times we know the answers to the questions we are asking but ignore them because they aren’t the answers we want.
Truth. Honesty. It’s amazing how speaking the truth does so much for one’s well being. Being honest with yourself. That is the key. Why do we lie to ourselves? Sometimes we are even afraid of our own truth. Amazing. Once we begin being truly honest with ourselves can we open up and allow the truth to flow around us.
Trust not just in other people but in ourselves! That is the real truth. Knowing ourselves and what we want.
Taking ego and fear out of the outcome. Speaking your truth just frees you. No matter the outcome, once you are sure within yourself, other people’s response will not matter. You will simply feel free because you are confident in yourself.
I read this and thought to myself, wow! I wrote that?? I wish I had taken my own advice months ago when I shared my first blog post. The one that was posted on Wendy Jane’s Soul Shake. The one that I was terrified to post because even though it was speaking my truth, it was also sharing a piece of me. It was very personal because ultimately I would realize it was my way of working out who I am on paper. It was really me pouring out pieces of my heart and soul onto paper.
I was so scared to share it because I was worried what people would think of me. I still get nervous when I share it, that it will be read wrong or offend someone, but I know that it is written in love. It came from my heart, my thoughts and my feelings.
So here is my personal essay on Why I Love Black Culture. Love it or hate it, it is my truth. Here is my personal essay…
Just Me —– by Elissa Butson
When I think back and try to figure out where my love and interest for black culture came from, I still can’t pinpoint it. I can remember being in Evan’s
market with my mom and my baby doll and hearing a little girl say, “mom why does she have a black doll?” I was so upset by the comment. Why would she say that? I remember feeling embarrassed, like I was the one who had done something wrong. At the same time, I felt confused. I couldn’t understand why it was a big deal.