Roar.

I roar like a lion.

The sea roars.

Is a roar loud? Or is it quiet?

I think of the roar of the lion:

• as a warning
• in excitement
• as a means of expression

As I think of these roars, I think of my little man.

He often roars {actually, he tends to moo – literally}…

• roars in excitement
• roars in frustration
• roars in laughter

Roaring is a way for him to express the feelings that he cannot give words to – the feelings he longs to express.

How often am I like him? How often do I roar – do I just let the feelings come out as I feel them. As a writer {and as one who thinks I have a reputation to uphold}, I tend to withhold expressing my emotions until I’m able to express them in an intellectual and contained way.

What if I roared? What if I allow myself to feel and express myself through a roar as I experience life?

Would the experience be freeing? Would I live more fully?

Or, would the roar, as it so often is when I do allow it to escape, be one of anger and frustration – tearing down those around me instead of building them up?

The few times I do allow myself to roar {or, more accurately, lose my temper in a fit of rage}, the roar breaks down others rather than builds them up.

Is this why I’ve forbidden myself to roar? to express myself as I feel the feelings I’m feeling?

To roar – to truly throw back my head and express everything I’m feeling – what a freeing, and yet terrifying, thought.

To be free to express, like my little man. To be able to roar.

And yet, does he roar in freedom? Or does he roar in frustration?

Would he rather that he could intelligently express what he is feeling in words? Is his roar one of immaturity?

Should I long to be able to roar? Or should I take comfort in knowing that I can {usually} control my urge to roar, processing my emotions and expressing them under a certain amount of control?

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I’m joining The Gypsy Mama’s Five Minute Friday: Roar. Won’t you join us?

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