There used to be a time when I wrote because it was the only way I knew how to communicate. It was the best way to communicate. Through writing I could express my frustration and anger, getting out exactly what I wanted to say, without breaking down into an inconsolable pile of blubbering tears.
I’m sure my ex-husband used to cringe when he saw one of my letters. Through my letters I would tell him how he hurt me. Through my letters is how I would reach out to ask what could I do better. Through my letters I would apologize for my part in the mess.
For years I also maintained my own blog under my government name. I posted regularly and had a good little following.
But, all that changed.
I got busy with school, my family and my career. Writing for leisure was tossed to the side as I took up writing for educational reasons, and then eventually, as I began to suffer through the dissolution of my marriage, writing became non-existent. It’s almost as if that part of me almost died.
Now, just like some claim to work on getting their sexy back, I’m trying to get my writing back. The best way to do that is to just write. I can ponder what to write about until I’m blue in the face, but pondering will not words on a blank page make.
So, write I shall. With a little prodding from a very good friend, and fellow writer, Ty McDonald, I’m taking the steps that will lead me to healing and lead me back to a love I’ve had since I was a child – writing.