Bark

Poor tree. Stripped by the wind and left naked for all to see.

I tend to want to keep layers around me. To present a certain look, a certain face to the world. One that looks together, sorted, capable. I worry about being exposed as not always that together, decidedly unsorted, and barely capable.

But my favourite stories are stories of weakness, and brokenness, and honesty because they give me hope. It's not just me.

Maybe If I let the wind strip away a layer or two sometimes, my story could give someone the same hope.