When I first decided to bring my writing out of my personal journaling and into the public blog back in 2012, I imagined sharing a few learnings and moments from my life experiences that helped me feel like a more complete, unbroken and kind human. I wove in some travel, retreats and workshops along the way.
Now my writing includes the markets of the world I walk through, the food I cook, and the quiet rhythms of creating a simple and slower life.
And that’s only part of it.
Lately, what’s been asking to be written isn’t just where I am—but what’s moving through me. And some of that has been uncomfortable for me to write, let alone click the “publish” button on.
Over the past few months, I’ve been writing about relational honesty, emotional intelligence, saving face, moral development, and the invisible dynamics that shape how we relate to ourselves and each other. I’ve also written about my family—my real experiences, my reflections, the truths I carry.
It’s personal. And I know it’s touched nerves.
Recently, I received an email from a former student of mine who was upset—accusing me of something from nearly ten years ago. I couldn’t even recall the situation they were describing. But their pain was real. I could feel it through their words. And while I don’t share their version of the story, I sat with it.
I’m also aware that some of what I’ve written about my family may have been hard for them to read—especially when I’ve made direct correlations to family dynamics, or mentioned people who are still living. The opposite is also true… they might not share my version of the story, or may be upset that I that I’ve chosen to write about it in a public space at all.
It reminded me that when you share your truth in the world, not everyone will agree with it, see it the same way, or appreciate it. Some may feel hurt. Some may feel confronted.
And still—I believe it’s worth writing.
I’m not here to provoke or expose. I’m here to try to understand. To stay in relationship with the parts of myself—and the world—that don’t fit easily into a postcard version of life. I don’t believe growth happens without discomfort. I don’t think believe connection happens without truth.
Lately, I’ve become a little self-conscious about what I’m putting out there. There’s a familiar discomfort returning—the same one I felt years ago when I was first trying to shape some raw thoughts into words. I catch myself checking if I’ve lost subscribers, even though I say I’m not writing to please anyone or build a following.
If you’ve felt a shift in my writing, you’re not wrong. This space has become more reflective. More layered. Less about travel. More about what gets stirred as I move through a new stage of life.
If you’re still here—quietly reading—I’m grateful. If something I’ve written has resonated, I’d love to know. Click here to send me an email. (If you hit reply to this email, it won’t go through.)
And if this no longer feels like the right fit, you can unsubscribe below. No guilt, no hard feelings. We all grow in different directions.
But I’ll be following what’s asking to be written.
Writing what feels true. Even when it’s messy.
—Maurice
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