Growing in 2023

I began writing on a daily basis about 3 years ago, after the pandemic started, when a new-found friend I met in a Zoom room Life Coaching class introduced me to The Artists Way by Julia Cameron.  I had been using Zoom for meetings for years at work and at least 1½ years attending a personal growth group, Women on the Verge, with my Life Coach, Kelly .  The latter was where I met my Writing Coach, Holly, and signed up for her classes at Loving the Process. By the time the pandemic hit, I discovered my creativity chip had been suppressed long enough. It was time to break through with what I knew in my heart was a writer’s soul. 

So, along came The Artists Way and “Morning Pages” and all that goes with that exploration into self when in the early hours while the sky is still dark and the sounds of quiet envelope me while the sun begins to reveal itself above the horizon I wrote, longhand, my every thought.  It was brutal, at first. But the women who guided me and took the journey with me gave me the courage I needed to believe in myself.

Thanks to my Life Coach I recognized that knowing my internal struggles was one thing, but finding a place for them in my awareness was another issue altogether.  My desire for storytelling had long been kept dormant but now it was time to express myself. Putting my feelings on paper was frightful.  I mean, after all, I knew that deep inside I was the creative person I was meant to be, but outside I was another person, the public facing version of me that withdrew all my creativity of the world because I thought I wasn’t talented enough. I spent a lot time shining the light on other, far more deserving people who had the guts to put themselves out there while I stayed quietly in the background, never revealing that storytelling was my passion.

I made it all about what others would think, did think. Before too long I realized I didn’t know what to expect of me so how the hell would anybody else know and not long after that I realized nobody really cares who I am.  Am I writer?  Who knows?  Who cares?  Am I a workaholic?  Can you be a workaholic if nobody sees you working at 2am because you don’t want to send an email that let’s people know you work in the middle of the night?  Who cares anyway?  Am I a creative?  Why, yes, I am.

The exploration of self has brought me to the conclusion that I am indeed a creative person of extreme talent who isn’t comfortable with attention or braggadocious behavior who never believed that I was meant to be anything but what I was told to be when I was being raised:  A behind the scenes assistant; a paycheck-to-paycheck kind of gal who accepts whatever life hands her and doesn’t draw outside the lines. 

Oh, I gave it the ole college try, even if I didn’t attend college until 10 years after high school graduation because nobody in my family had the money for that – for a girl.  (Not my words, theirs).  Girls were destined to cook and clean and tend to the house and, well, you get the idea.  Bring dessert to my husband while he sat in front of the tv watching his “show.” That was their scenario for me and I walked along with it knowing all along I am a storyteller. A writer. And a creative.

So, who the hell cares what I have to say?  Am I right, ladies of a certain age who were told to stay in your lane?

Enter my Life and Writing coaches and the family into which I am accepted and cared for, nurtured like a seedling that will break through concrete if it has to so I could bloom to become the flower that springs eternal.  The flower I was meant to be and not the one that grew sideways.  Cause I’m breaking through.

And I have things to say too.  Last night I was reminded by my creative family that I should stop keeping my writing to myself and share it because somewhere out there, someone is going through – or has gone through – exactly what I am and my voice may be exactly what they need to hear to help them move to the next place in their life.  I believe this because I have been inspired by so many people who revealed they had the same reservations about themselves as I have about me. I would be lost without their words. I’m grateful every day they had the courage to put their thoughts on paper and post it on a blog, in a book, on a social media platform, wherever their words reached me, they brought me to life.

I’m afraid.  Let’s make that clear up front.  People are not always kind.  I don’t have tough skin.  And I don’t think I’m all that and a bag of chips.  (yeah, I said it) So, this is a risky decision.  But you know what?  I’ve read so many things by so many people who have made a difference in my life and it doesn’t matter if they are accomplished, published writers or every day writers like myself.  What matters is if I hadn’t read what they wrote, I wouldn’t have the benefit of knowing someone else out there feels just like me, hurts just like me, laughs just like me, and needs just like me.

So, here I am.  Warts and all, as they say.  No matter how this new journey turns out, I hope it helps you and me grow in a positive way.