Wanna know a secret‪?‬ Secret Gardens

I’ve built my career and in some ways, my life, by showing up as someone else. In their voice, with their goals, their pursuits, beliefs and values.
First as an actor. (Although, let’s not fool ourselves and call that a career. A passion, a whole-hearted pursuit, yes. But a few paid gigs, a decade of rejections, and many big-dangling-opportunity-carrots does not a career make). I played their parts, wore their clothes, kissed their lovers, cried their tears, fought their fights.
There, but not there.
In my role as a copywriter and producer/director I shared their stories, sold their work, presented their beliefs, told their jokes and promoted them with abandon, unafraid.
Not heard. Not seen.
Safe.
I’ve managed to create, write and share for years without ever actually being there. I can do it for others, sure, no question. I am great at helping others show up. I can lend my voice, ideas, energy and craft to their goals. But for myself?
It wasn’t always like this. I used to be fearless. Sometimes I look back at that version of me and think: “Who even were you?” I’d write deeply personal work and share it, whether by the written word, or a short film, captions, videos, images. Taking excerpts from pages of my heart just in case they were in any small way helpful, inspiring, encouraging and I would hit ‘publish’ freely.
Somewhere in all of the madness of life, I stopped sharing.
I lost heart.
Or, perhaps more honestly, I became hard-hearted.
I think I didn’t have anything left to give? I was also resentful. Maybe it was having my work stolen and seeing other people parade it as their own and get the credit. Maybe it was the acting dream that crushed my spirit. Maybe it was the personal life events that left me feeling so damaged I doubted I had anything left of value to share with anyone. Or if I did, I didn’t want to anymore.
Or all of the above.
It wasn’t intentional or something I decided to do. I just stopped. I guess it’s kind of like when you wake up in the morning and there’s that feeling in the back of your throat - you’re losing your voice, it’s time to rest and stop using it before the sickness takes hold. Except, my voice didn’t come back. I see now that I gave it away, willingly. Put it in a nice little seashell all by myself (no Sea Witch needed) and stashed it the drawer of odd socks, tiny pieces of broken dreams and the sticky tape I can never find when I need it.
I stopped sharing, but kept writing, kept creating. I was making facebook and instagram ads, social media content, email campaigns, commercials, designing websites, writing blog posts, podcast episodes, courses, small products, workbooks, designs and more. All from the safe place within other people’s voices and brands, helping them succeed.
Then, at some point last year it was as though I heard the seashell smash in front of me: a glitter of glass, sprinkling on the floor with piercing pitch. It was time to grab my voice out of the drawer.
Even when I started publishing here it was in the space of the expertise I could offer, not my heart or anything truly connected to me, the person, just my skills. It’s valuable, sure, but not the only stuff I’m here to say. That’s why I made the pivot on this publication to what it is becoming now: Secret Gardens.
Now I’m here (hi), this is me. My stories. My words. I’m attempting to hear my own thoughts again and I feel like I’m just waking up from a deep sleep. Like I’ve been numb and silent, mute, by choice and all of these stories, words, and tales have become so loud within me. I’m just trying to distinguish one from the other as they all compete for attention at once.
I want to say this: if you feel shaky in sharing, you’re not alone.
I too am learning how to use my voice again. How to wield it in the “right” direction. I’m learning how to trust that when I go to speak it won’t break on me or make weird ‘baby dinosaur noises