Interestingly enough, I wrote the post below after I wrote having sex demons but before the #StoryChicago post. I didn’t have any clue really how these two posts would effect me, but it has been more weighty then I could have imagined. I couldn’t bring myself to respond to comments on the sex demon post. I usually try & respond to every comment let alone NONE. I. Just. could. not.
I don’t often reflect back on hard it is to share vulnerably -most people think I bounce back like Tigger- but it absolutely sets me back days and this case weeks. I tried to write a brief post that gets at the heart of it: hard but good.
“Why do you write so vulnerably then?” he asks with genuine sincerity, genuine confusion. “When it causes so much…” he trails off.
“I do it because I believe in hope sharing. I write it out to understand myself, but I share it to be understood. I do it because I’ve been transformed when I found myself, found my story in others’ writing. I do it because if I can be infused with hope like a doggone drug being injected needle to vein from just the reading of real life why wouldn’t I also want to drug other people similarly? Besides Babe”, I say, “this is my heritage. How have Africans to slaves to African-Americans passed down our beautiful, brilliant culture? Stories. Through the straight-up generosity of saying, ‘yo, here’s how it all went down.’ I’m a part of that, babe,” I tell him. “I have to. I just have to.”
You can read the rest of the post over at Andi’s blog…