It’s been four years since I’ve blogged like this.
Where I allow my heart, soul, and mind to spill out through my fingers onto the (public) page.
Four years ago, I lived in the belly of the whale–deep in the midst of training in marriage and family therapy. In the belly, I spent four years honing my ability to listen deeply–to others–and to the stirrings and longings within me. Recognizing that the fixing and pleasing parts that try to control my outer world also try to control my inner world. Indeed the system that I struggle with that is outside of me lives within me.
Four years wrestling with how much of myself I can share publicly as my role shifts. Four years longing for space to integrate my passions of psychology and theology–the praxis of therapy and contemplative living. Oh all the shoulds and questions that flooded my inner landscape:
I’m told I should blog about therapy–make my voice an “expert” in the field. That doesn’t feel true or genuine to me–it just seems like more noise. Do I really have to do that?
Writing has been a way of making sense of my world–inner and outer. Blogging started to become a way to connect and build community. Is it ethical for me to blog from this perspective now?
I could go on…
Ironically, in this season of quarantine and pandemic–when many of us feel like we’re living in the belly of the whale–I no longer live there. I’ve been spit up on the shores of 2020. My spirit longs for space to explore the intersection of my passions: psychology and theology–and the meeting space that happens between. Blogging has always been a meaning making place for me.
It will be a place to explore the intersections, to encourage integration, live in the liminal spaces–and write my way onward.