It’s been so long since I’ve written.
Even writing that, I look at that shitty first sentence, that lame opening line and I think, “yes, it has been a long time since I have written. And if that’s the only way I know how to begin a blog post, then my creativity muscle must really be weak.”
But I need to start somewhere, even if it’s with a shitty first opening sentence.
Truth is I haven’t known what to write. I have wanted to since the day I stopped. But I haven’t felt like I had anything TO write about. On top of that stale, shallow water of my creativity well, I have been so busy/tired/distracted/enthralled/challenged/in love/growing/changing with my now 8 month old son Houston, that I am not even sure I would have had time to think creatively, let alone write something, if I had the found thirty minutes extra in this last year, to sit down at my computer and type.
Or maybe I would have. Maybe I could have. There is no telling now. The time has passed and at least I am re beginning. No point in beating a dead horse.
Restarting. What will it be like, to restart my writing routine? To rework my creativity and vulnerability muscles? I know how I want to feel, and getting to those feelings, that state of being, requires me to get back to writing. Writing is the stepping stone to feeling what I want to feel.
How hard will it be? To relearn how to really write? To refind my voice? Will I fall back into an easy groove of wispy, flowy words, and be able to string adjectives, nouns, verbs together in pretty lines that make me feel healed, heard or whole as I write them?
That is why I use to write. To heal, to be heard and to feel whole. I use to write, so I could read back what I had written and in doing so, I felt not alone in how I felt or what I was wrestling with. I felt heard. It was almost like I was reading someone else’s thoughts and as if I was relating to someone else’s words. And that feeling of relating to what I was reading on the computer screen – my own dang words – I felt less alone. I felt little moments of becoming whole, and therefore, I felt little, yet powerful, moments of healing.
The idea of actually SHARING this on a blog page where anyone can read it… well, I find that terrifying to be quite honest. I’ve changed so much over the year, in the gap between the last post and this. I’m not the same girl. In some ways, that’s a good thing.
And in some ways, there is plenty to mourn and miss with the old me.
I had no issues with confidence in what I was writing and sharing back then. Who cares if no one reads this, who cares if I get pushback. It’s for ME. The old me really rocked the self-confidence. The old me really didn’t care.
The new me, well, she is in that weird middle ground where, yah she kinda cares. She kinda isn’t sure about putting her heart, thoughts and emotions out there for anyone to read, because, like, WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS?
This new me, she’s out of practice of being brave. She kinda is in that strange space of knowing that she will get TO the other side, where she will feel self assured and confident in what she writes, but she’s not there yet. And it looks like one hell of a journey to get there.
So then, thinking of doing this, of inviting people to watch me move through this bizarre ground of relearning myself, re-finding my creativity, practicing vulnerability, redefining my new self…. It’s kind of like inviting people to watch you move thru the awkward early teenage years. Cringe worthy. Embarrassing. Not that a lot of fun for anyone.
But, yet. YET. Here we are. I’m still writing. You’re, apparently, still reading. Bravo to us both.
So here it goes. Again. Time to restart. To relearn. To reintroduce me TO me and you. It’s time to show myself what I have been missing and yearning for. I know how I want to feel, and so it’s time to take the steps, the action, to make those feelings happen. It’s time to write.