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I talk to my higher power a lot. All day really. I talk to my angels, Jesus, nature, God, my guardians of light, people who have passed on. And I continually examine my mind, my thoughts, my actions—all the time. I don’t know how to breathe without focusing on the light, on my journey, on my life’s calling.

But I am human. I falter. I stumble. I become fixated and obsessed. I worry. I forget. I forget my purpose and the gifts I carry.

Then the guilt comes. The analysis. The fret and worry. And I am engulfed in should and should nots. How I could be better, more perfect, less human. My mind spins in review of all the reasons I am not enough. All the sources I turn to instead of light—the things, the people. I make validation my idol. I make love of self my goal. I forget why I am here. I forget to release expectations. I forget I am love. I am perfection. I am pure light.

My gift is in my message. In my story. In my words. In my ability to share my truth from the depths of me.

But I forget.

Sometimes I realize that I am writing for my own interest.

Sometimes I write only to be heard or seen by one special person, a friend, a lover.

Sometimes I write in hopes of discovery.

Sometimes I write so someone, anyone, will take note.

Sometimes I write to count the number of like buttons hit on my blog.

Sometimes I write in hopes of the perfect comment from a reader.

Sometimes I write because if I do not I will absolutely explode.

I think of these reasons. And I weep.

I think these are wrong. I think I am wrong.

I cry and beg for forgiveness. For forgiveness for being human.