I am a mother.
I am a widow.
I am a daughter.
I am a sister.
I am an educator.
I am a free thinker.
I am a reader.
I am a survivor.
I am an artist.
I am NOT a writer!
This is the litany of thoughts that have been streaming through my head the past two years. These are the words that keep me up at night tossing and turning.
I have read countless authors, bloggers, poets explain their love of words. I loath words. These writers express their dire need to write and speak these words that they love. My introverted, controlling nature would love nothing more than to keep her big trap shut! Words on paper are like open wounds just waiting for a bacterial infestation. Writing is laying your heart open and praying that it doesn’t get broken. Yes, I may have a slight issue with being vulnerable.
I write out of necessity. I write lesson plans. I write informational handouts. I write thank you, sympathy, and encouraging notes. I have written numerous blogs about my loved ones’ health battles. I write to be heard but not seen. For if you see me, then you will know my brokenness.
By NOT being a writer I can hide my brokenness, my heartaches, my struggles. By NOT being a writer I can pretend that life is good and I am fine. By NOT being a writer I can stuff all the hurt, anxiety and self doubt far away.
Yet, what about the laughter? What about the community? What about the friendships? What about the love and acceptance? What about the light? What about the good and the beautiful parts? What about the healing? What about HOPE? I cannot stuff away the bad without also trashing the good. They go hand in hand. “I delight in weakness, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12:10
I write out of necessity. To let light, strength, and hope prevail. To find “Beauty in the Brokenness”.
I AM a writer.