Sharing Your Story—Even When You're Still Figuring It Out

Blogging can be weird.

It's vulnerable. It's tricky. It's a steep learning curve, especially when you're not just sharing thoughts—you're sharing yourself. I'm still learning how to use this space—this website, this blog—to express what I’ve lived through while also (hopefully) helping others navigate their battles.

The hardest part? Finding balance.

I'm a professional in the counseling field, which means I’m constantly dancing between being human and being “appropriate.” Between being raw and being responsible. Between telling the truth and protecting the people who are a part of that truth.

If you’re reading this, thank you for sticking around. Thank you for being patient while I figure out what this blogging is. I haven’t written much outside of high school poetry and academic papers—and let’s be honest, APA format doesn’t exactly teach you how to write from the heart.

Using my voice is hard. Even after years of therapy and working as a counselor, I still overanalyze nearly every conversation I have. I replay things I said to the cashier at the gas station or a coworker three days ago. And when it comes to telling my story? Whew.

It's not that it's too hard—it's that I never know where to start. There’s no neat beginning, middle, and end. My story is a patchwork of overlapping memories, blurred timelines, and things I only remember in flashes. Many of the years I used are still foggy. The years of my health condition at its worst were a blur. There are some things I forgot on purpose or because my brain blocked the traumatic event out, which I still haven’t fully retrieved yet. And there are people in my life—especially family—whose stories are tangled up in mine, and I never want my truth to feel like an attack on theirs. Even though the truth is all I hope to share, many important individuals involved still like to have a different truth about the same events.

So, here's what I’ve learned: You don’t have to share your recovery story all at once. You don’t have to make it polished or perfect. You just have to start somewhere.

And for me, blogging in pieces—topic by topic, memory by memory—is what feels right. It’s how I can slowly start telling the truth in ways that feel safe and honest but still kind. It's how I can show up without needing every detail mapped out.

There’s a lot of power in learning how to share your story in recovery.

It helps others feel less alone. It chips away at the shame and guilt that can consume us. It builds connections in those dark places where isolation used to live. And for me, it helps me own what I’ve been through instead of hiding from it.

But what no one tells you is that it’s okay if sharing your story is messy. It’s okay if you don’t remember everything. It’s okay if you’re still afraid of how people will respond. And it’s okay to take your time.

Your story doesn’t have to be told all in one breath. It doesn’t even have to be said in order.

If you’ve been wondering how to tell your story—especially if you're in recovery or dealing with mental health challenges—know that you’re not alone. Start with a sentence. A moment. A memory that feels loud.

The rest will come when you’re ready.