Writing is a very vulnerable undertaking.
It’s brave and honest and requires that I quiet my mind enough to listen rather than react. It means that all of the parts of myself have a chance to speak up, have their say, and make their way onto a page in the form of sentences and paragraphs. I’ve always struggled with organization in my writing – that’s always the constructive criticism I got in school – because I’ve got lots of different parts of me with lots of things to say. I think it’s for this reason that I haven’t been able to write much in recent years. It seems to be especially hard for me to write when life gets dark and when things are crumbling; often that’s when I feel like I should write the most – get it all down so I can document really significant moments. But that just hasn’t been my m.o. thus far.
So. The fact that I’m here and writing means that life has calmed down enough or, rather, life has lightened enough for me to do so. I’m coming out of several years of heavy doubt, grief, and struggle to finally see above water. And I’m ready to write. I’m ready to give voice to these parts in me – of love and fear and hope and curiosity. We’re all here, ready.