I wrote about my kids, my life, my faith, my work, and love. When my life got messy, blogging was often a way to work through darkness and fear and worry. Right or wrong, divulging too much at times, ignoring boundaries other times, writing was my outlet and my connection. Then came a time when I couldn't write. For reasons not of my own choosing, and against my every desire. I couldn't share, tell, divulge, explain, or connect in written word online. It was so hard for me to shut down. I lost so much of the good that I'd written, lost 3 years of memories and stories, and lost connections, lost an entire way of processing. I tried to write secretly, under a fake name with a new blog - in fact I started to do so multiple times... But I'd lost my fire. I didn't have bright shiny things to write about that would balance the dark and the fear and all my writing seemed forced or bitter, and I would start up a blog but lose interest when I couldn't find a way to write my own truth without being such a dreary bore or a whiny bitter drama queen. And oh how I was a whiny bitter drama queen!
I joined a writing club and wrote prompted, mostly fictional shorts and some intense poetry. That was good, satisfying, enriching even and I was beginning to blossom there but I had to give that up for the boring reality of time constraints.
When my newest little nugget came along almost two years ago, I assumed the joy and delight would translate into flowing writing once again. The truth is, writing is no longer easy. I fight to write the peace and joy, it takes thought and caution and effort. I still find it easy to be a whiny bitter drama queen - but actively try to shed that from myself daily. Not just in my writing, but in that place inside my heart that drives my voice, my thoughts, and my actions.
Maybe it's just that, 5 years after the chaos, I'm only now beginning to come up into the light. I've made brief forays, but it's now that I can find ground to stand firm on. Maybe the way I've changed, the way I've been changed, is that I simply am slower, more cautious, less "off the cuff". Maybe writing is one more facet of my old self. I feel sad thinking that it is my new truth though. I feel like I want to fight against the loss of writing but also like I am tired now of fighting against things I can't control and am ready to be graceful about my losses. Graceful and accepting.
I've had to redefine so many parts of myself: who I am, who I was, who I want to be, what I like, what I don't like...and it's a daily process, very often like building a sand castle at the tide line -that I hesitate to draw a line and declare that I AM or am NOT something. It all could change tomorrow.
I used to love writing. Now? I don't know how I feel about it and perhaps that's where I will leave it. Maybe some days I will fight for it and some days I won't and one day it will be clear to me what the outcome is.
