Lisa René LeClair
Social media is weird. We share intimate stories and private photos with people we barely know. We scroll, click, and wait. And then we scroll again. But seriously, what's the point?
This question has haunted me for years. I used to wonder if anyone would click my links or read my stories. Not just read them, but hear them, FEEL THEM, and relate to them in a way that eased their minds about similar things they either went through as a child or are currently going through. Then something happened. I ditched mainstream media and went rogue, writing from my heart the way my soul had intended. Fuck the vanilla crap, the celebrity drama and the shock-bait bullshit that only lured in trolls who commented without reading. I wanted a space where people like me, who struggle to fit in, could escape from people like them.
You still with me? Good. That means you belong. Sadly, it also means you're probably suffering. Don't worry; you're in good company. Some of us were bullied or abused as children. Many had parents who were alcoholic, narcissistic, or just fucking absent. And then there are the newbies, those who married into the nightmare and cannot find a way out. Regardless of how you got here or why you came, I'm glad you did. Misery loves company, but it needs support more. Drop your baggage, throw on some gloves, and let's punch through our pain together.
But first, let's take a selfie.
In my next life, I'm going to design t-shirts. It's the quickest way to let people know how you really feel without saying a word. Lucky for you, my Bull Shirt was in the wash. Kidding. In all seriousness, isn't LOVE all that any of us really want? To be accepted for who we are, not who people want us to be? If this is true, then wouldn't the best place to start be in front of a mirror? Think about it. How can you expect others to love you if you won't even try to love yourself?
Here's a tip: Your emotional makeup doesn't have to be dark. You're allowed to slap on a lighter shade of pale. Cut yourself some slack. You are human, and humans are flawed. We screw up. We say things we don't mean because we haven't quite mastered the art of communication. Sometimes, we — intentionally or unintentionally — hurt the ones we love. In those instances, acknowledgment is power.
The message below was sent to me on Instagram by someone who clicked one of my links. Two sentences stood out: "It seems like you've been through a lot of pain. Probably at the hands of a guy like me."
It was the first time someone other than a victim messaged me about one of my posts. He didn't go on and on about what a terrible person he was, nor did he try to make me feel sorry for him like most people do when they fake sincerity. He straight-up assumed responsibility for whatever he had done and wanted me to know.
It takes a big person to admit they are wrong, but not if they expect something in return. I was thankful for his message and let him know. "All we can do in life is try to be better people, not just for those we wronged, but for ourselves." I encouraged him to forgive himself and acknowledge the person he had hurt. He said he had already done that, and that they were working through things. And then he told me that "learning to live in acceptance, that you can't undo past deeds, but rather you simply have to commit to never be that asshole again, is harder than it seems." If it were easy, I guess everyone would be doing it.
Still, knowing that my words positively impacted "a guy like him" was empowering. If he was listening, and actively working to better himself, maybe others were, too? What if, by exposing our weaknesses and sharing our truths, we inadvertently fixed our broken world?
This. THIS is the point. Thanks for being here.