I’m quiet when I have too much to say. When I don’t quite know how to get my words out in a way to make sense of what I’m feeling, of what’s going on around me, of what I’m uncomfortable with, or even with what I desperately want.

When I speak, much like when I write, I want the words to flow, ebb, glisten as the letters and words move from my tongue. This is toxic. Holding it in, letting words and emotions dwell in you, not allowing the world or the people around you to rest in the ripple effect of the waves your sentences create. It’s a lack of trust. Almost an insult, I believe.

I want to speak up. Even when I can’t find the right words. Even when I don’t quite know what it is I’m trying to say.

I don’t pray very well for this reason. I want God to hear me when I’m composed, when I’m doing what I believe I’m supposed to, when I have my life structured in a sort of mangled fashion around the tips of my fingers.

Embarrassingly enough, I don’t pray often enough for this very reason. My life is never at a point in which I feel completely content. I am able to progress because of this, fumble around and reposition my footing every so often.

I’m praying now, here, to you. I’m praying that I stop forcing myself to have the right answers, or to even be asking the right questions. I pray to stop the constant urge to have my life and my goals, my desires and temptations, perpetually in order and under control. I’m praying to give myself grace and room to breathe. I’m praying to ask for forgiveness for being silent, and enough courage to be brave when I have something to say. I’m crying out to every power and every person and my God and our God and everything in-between, to speak up.

I’m begging to be reminded that what I say and feel matters. We all want to be heard. We need to remember there are people out there who are waiting and wanting, to listen.

Speak up, sweet soul.


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