I’ve been writing a lot during this crisis, and somehow I find myself almost halfway through a memoir. I’ve written about some of the darkest parts of my life. The deaths of my mother, my brother, and my sister. My experiences with sexual assault, coercion, and harassment. My struggle coming out. There is something so terrifying yet therapeutic about saying things on paper that I’ve never said out loud.
Though these pages may never leave my Google drive, one thing this project has taught me is that my story is one worth telling. I have always believed in authenticity. The more we share our stories, the more commonality we find between us. The more we talk about the taboo, the more stigma breaks down. The more we share, the more we connect.
Self-worth is hard. We all struggle with imposter syndrome. We all don’t always feel like we can add value to a conversation. We all struggle loving ourselves. This process has shown me that I am at least worthy of my own experiences, because they are no one else’s story to tell. They are mine.
