writing and healing

writing these days seems challenging. the words are just not flowing but then i wonder when they last did. and if that even matters.

sometimes, when i write i think i am suppose to have all the answers but i am slowly seeing that writing really just brings up more questions.

one of the best things writing has given me is a little more self-awareness. this awareness has given the courage to try and meet myself as i am where i am but also gently (and slowly) align myself to something bigger than me.

you see, i have been struggling (as usual) to understand what the purpose of my writing is for these days. without a big and lofty goals…should i even bother? i am now seeing this as the voice of a wet blanket that i once knew. someone who i allowed to stifle my creativity, my mind and my spirit. i am realizing how deep those wounds lie and the power that words can have over me. even when i think i’ve let go of that person or phase of life.

for me it all comes down to worthiness. to feel worthy of love, life and creativity when so many people or circumstances have said otherwise. we are not born knowing how to fight for our minds and souls. and most of the time, we don’t even know that we need to filter, challenge or change the messages coming into us.

i use to think i needed to have keep myself off this blog but i think that was just an unrealistic thought. for better or worst, i write about my personal feelings and life. sometimes, i may delete those things and sometimes i may expand on those things but those things are my things. yes, i can write other things, things that feel less messy and vulnerable and i will be doing that more, this year. i love writing about those things but i have to write about them in a way that is my way because otherwise it just feels false and wooden. for the record, i don’t think personal writing is all about pain and struggle ( i plan on writing about minimalism and spirituality more and i consider those to be mostly joyful topics).  i also want to tackle as best i can motherhood/parenting, marriage and community.

i think part of giving myself permission to write more has to start with acceptance. accepting that i will not be markable, that i will not be for everyone and that i am doing this mostly for me. which in this Internet age seems indulgence and blasphemous but it’s where i am. i have lived for too long looking over my shoulder trying to please people i don’t know or who have no stake in my life. i feel like those days have to fall away to these days.

i keep doing this dance. i have done it for years. i keep trying to go back and love that little black girl that i lost somewhere along highway 43. i keep trying to see here and her pain and allow her to speak. i keep holding her and telling her that it’s okay. that she has every right to receive love, to live her life and love her life and the people in it. i keep on writing for her sake and mine because we can’t expect anyone else to feed our heart and nurture our lives like our own hands. we can’t expect our stories to matter to anyone, if they don’t matter to us.

i keep writing even if feels senseless and glamorous-less because what it the alternative–silence? i keep writing because we don’t have to look a certain way or have a plan to put our stories out there. we just show up. as best we can with our pen and paper. our laptop and words. and we testify to our experiences. not to be saints and heroes. we do this to understand that we are connected to each other, that we are not alone and the our voices add to the richness of humanity. we matter. our stories matter. no matter what anyone says. 

if it bring us healing, if it bring us connection, if it brings us to our heart…how can we not keep writing? how can we not keep trying to heal?