Why?

Writing has played an instrumental part in my life for as long as I can remember. I started journaling at nine years old. From there, I wrote a few short stories. I planned to write children’s books. However, I started writing poetry at age 15 and fell in love. I loved saying what I needed without worrying about grammar or spelling. By the time I graduated High School, I had written over 1000 poems, so many songs, and a draft for a young adult novel. I had dreams of becoming a journalist for two reasons. Journalism provided a steady income for writers, and I could use my voice to make a difference. I had always had this inclination to make the world a better place, to help people, and to bring to light some of the darker issues we try to hide.

            See, what most people do not know is that while I walked around with a smile on my face, I lived in constant emotional and physical pain. I’m working to understand where that agony originated from. Yet, I believe it was due to losing vision in my right eye. That is a long and complicated story, and I’m still trying to understand what happened and process it all. What I do remember is my mom wouldn’t let me feel inadequate. She didn’t see me as having a disadvantage and had me believe I could face any challenge. She told me not to let my lack of vision define me. She taught me to be strong and brave. I believed her. I didn’t have a disability; different maybe, but not incapable.

Maybe that was a lie I told myself because subconsciously, I was struggling. I couldn’t let go of the idea that something was wrong with me. I didn’t think anyone liked me. I felt worthless, and I contemplated taking my life. But writing gave me a voice and a purpose, and I wanted to use that voice to help little girls like me. I hoped my words could provide the comfort they needed.

            Long story short, that insecurity was more powerful than I thought, making me believe I was not a good writer. I understood I needed more work technically, but I felt I could convey emotion in any piece of writing. But I soon convinced myself I needed more work and wasn’t good enough. So, I switched my major and kept my writing only for myself. Shortly after, I graduated from college with a degree in English Communications but enrolled in graduate school for Higher Administration. I decided that getting people involved with college and helping them find their purpose was my calling.

            And don’t get me wrong, I was good at it. I loved building leaders, planning events, and engaging with students. I knew that I was making a difference. I couldn’t be prouder to do for others what someone had done for me. However, if I wasn’t at work, I was alone in my room with a pen and paper, writing my thoughts and crying. Nothing could give me greater satisfaction than getting out the thoughts in my head. And I wish I could say I went to write more and connected with my first love. But instead, the opposite happened.

            I fell in love with a man who didn’t see the value in my writing. I won’t go into much detail here about it, but I will say I wrote less and less every day. I dove myself into my career and then my family. I made excuses as to why I didn’t have time to write. For so long, a part of me was missing. I couldn’t feel that void. In 2019, when I got pregnant with my third child, I promised to get back into writing.

            That led me on an incredible journey of self-recovery, and I wrote a draft of a memoir. I started journaling and writing poetry again. That gave me the strength I needed to walk away from the emotionally abusive man that I had once loved so much. It wasn’t long before I filled a blank journal with thoughts, the notes section on my phone consumed poetry, and I wrote two drafts for two stories. I once again connected back with my purpose. I knew then that no matter what happened, I would never turn my back on writing again. My goal has always been to use my story to help others, and now I can finally achieve it.

            This blog will be a way for me to express myself and hopefully provide hope to others. I’ve had my fair share of dark days, but despite everything, I’ve seen “The Bright Side.”