I like writing; I’ve always like writing. Even when I don’t think I want to write anything or I have nothing good enough to write, I still love the feeling of the pen on paper or the fingers gently pressing against the keyboard. I love the noise the keys make and hearing the speed at which they write. I love the pause and brief moment of silence before I key words near and dear to me. The jingle of my bracelets as the left side the keyboard gains more strokes while the right fights to catch up.
Writing has always been therapeutic to me and maybe that is why I have turned back to it. I had a diary since the 2nd grade. It didn’t make much sense, but I still have it. I still look back at my thoughts and logic as a child. The first entry I ever wrote? The death of my elderly neighbor who was like a grandmother to me. I remember interviewing my mother on what Mrs. Sharp had enjoyed and aspects of her life I may have missed. As I reread my entries, they are full of pain. They are full of a child who bottled up everything inside pen and paper.
Yes, I had a few entries of “these are my best friends” followed by a list ranking them in order….how crazy was I. I had some today I hung out with my friend so and so. I would start stories I thought were epic. I remember exciting showing my story to my brother who then informed me I needed to say, “he said or she said.” I couldn’t believe it and thought he was trying to sabotage my creative magic. Then, entries would stop and the next date would be months later. That entry? Always an event that triggered it.From death, self doubts, self hate, hating life, hating myself. I read this diary crying for the girl inside. I never realized it much at the time, but I was a extremely sad child. I would go to sleep because it was my favorite time. I would go to bed because it was my time to cry without my parents knowing. I would go to bed because I could allow myself to feel. I never would have allowed anyone else to know my inner thoughts. I thought how I felt was not valid. I thought I was stupid and ungrateful to feel the way I did. I had much to be thankful for and yet, I felt empty.
One of the most devastating items I found in my diary and perhaps, I can one day add it to this post was an image I had drawn of a girl. She was only a chip above a stick figure level drawing and she was labeled “me.” And I was surrounded my arrows and lines pointing to specific body parts. Too fat, not big enough, can’t see colors, too small, talks to much, sounds weird, the list goes on. Yet at the bottom retraced over and over and over again to stand out from the rest,
Not Good Enough.
These words and this image has motivated me to never feel that way again. & I have made that a life goal and succeed for the most part. I think we all will have days of doubt and moments we lose our way. It is all about finding our way back or having someone else to steer our ship when we get knocked by a wave.
Recently, I’ve returned to writing again. 12 blog post in I make the realization that this typically only has happens do to some form of event. This perspective made me reflect on myself.
I realize that I am in a much much much better place today then I was even a few years ago. I am not writing because I bottled up everything. I know release what is important with those I can. I have begun to realize, I write when I need to find order and make a plan for life.
Every week I write what we are having for dinner that week, my workouts, a grocery list, events for the week. This is relaxing to me and sets me on track, yet when the items become deeper, I need a way to grab hold of life.
And so I write. I had many frustrations with work, fitness, hobbies, time to do what I want. Yet, I didn’t fall until I heard about my father. That was the rock that broke the boulder.
This post is definitely one of self reflection to me. It gives me a means to escape and figure out myself. The purpose of posting? I don’t know. It makes it real to me. It is like hitting publish means that I accept my thoughts and I am working to figure my shit out.
And so I hit publish.