Getting it Out

I know, I know...the internet probably doesn’t need another blog post. There are already millions of words being launched into the void every day, each one pushing information, opinions, reflections, or strategies. And honestly, if I really wanted to share some thoughts, shouldn’t I just start a podcast? That’s what everyone’s doing now. It’s the thing. People are listening more than they’re reading these days. So…why a blog entry?

Well, here’s the truth: I’m not doing this to blow up, go viral, or become the next content creator everyone’s subscribing to. I’m not chasing numbers or trying to build a following. This isn’t even about expertise or having something polished to say. This entry, this first post, is just me sharing where I am in my head about this blog.

That’s it. I need a space to release what’s been sitting in me for a while. Not because I have it all figured out, but because keeping it in has started to feel like too much. These last five years have been something else, filled with transitions, unexpected turns, internal wrestling, a lot of silence, and even more reflection. And in all of that, I’ve come to a place where I just want to speak again. Not for applause. Not even necessarily for dialogue (though that’s always welcome). I just need to say some things, out loud, in writing, in the open.

Maybe this is for someone who’s lived similar stories, have the same thoughts. Maybe someone will stumble across this post and feel a little less alone. And if not? That’s okay too. This space isn’t about platforming; it’s about processing. It’s about showing up with what I have, where I am, and offering it for whoever it might meet.

Part of the reason I’m even starting this blog, is because somewhere along the way, my voice got quiet. Not because I stopped caring or thinking or feeling, but because I stopped feeling like there was space for it. Slowly, unintentionally, quietly, my voice got silenced. I totally understand why victims are afraid to speak up. I resonate with the voices that play in their heads, you know voices saying…“I don’t know if I should say this,” or “Maybe this isn’t the time,” or “What if no one cares?”

It’s disorienting to feel like your voice, something that once felt so natural and steady, has lost its grounding. Especially when you’ve spent your life using it, as a pastor, a counselor, a musician, a leader, a friend. My whole world has often revolved around words, communication, and presence. And yet, somehow, I arrived at a place where I don’t know what to say anymore. Or if I was even allowed to say it.

A few months ago, I was working on a statement for a situation that seemed from hell. It was one of those deep-dive documents where every sentence costs something, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. I didn’t write it alone, there were mentors, leaders, and even a psychologist who helped me sort through what needed to be said. And after I turned it in, one of the people on my support team said something I didn’t expect to hear.

They said, “Wow. You’re a good writer.”

It stopped me. Not because I’ve never written anything before, but because no one had really said that to me, not like that, not in a moment where I was laying bare, vulnerable and hurting so much of my life. And definitely not someone who had seen me at one of my lowest points. They saw not just my words, but me. And they didn’t flinch. In fact, they affirmed me, not just as a writer, but as a person. A human being worth hearing.

And then they said other things that cut even deeper in the best way:

“You’re going to get through this.”

“This isn’t all your fault despite what you were told.”

“This doesn’t change how the people who know and trust you see you.”

“This doesn’t change how God sees you.”

Whew! That was it! That was what cracked the silence. Those words settled in places that had been starved for that kind of care and compassion. Because have you ever been in a moment where everything feels one-sided, like the world is tilted against you? Where it feels like you’re carrying something too heavy to name, and then the Lord Himself sends someone along who says, “I see you. I believe you. I care.”

That moment changed me. And it reminded me of what I’ve told others so many times, as a pastor, as a counselor, as a friend: being seen and believed can shift everything.

So here I am, writing again. Not because I expect this post to be shared a thousand times or quoted in someone’s newsletter. Maybe only my wife and my mom will read it (hey y’all!). But that’s okay. Because this isn’t about visibility. It’s about “Getting it Out.” The thoughts. The questions. The musings. The frustrations. The healing. The hope. The hard stuff I’ve been sitting with that might or might not make total sense but needs somewhere to land.

So that’s what this post is, a beginning. A clearing of the throat. A place to hopefully start to breathe again. A release. And maybe, just maybe, a reminder to someone else out there that their voice is still worth using too. Not because it’s perfect. Not because it has all the answers. But because it’s yours, given to you by the Lord. And because there is something sacred about putting words to what’s been sitting inside.

So yeah, this isn’t the name of the blog. It’s just this one entry. But it felt like the right title for this first piece: Getting It Out. Because that’s what I’m doing. One word at a time. And maybe, in the process, I’ll find my way back to my voice again.