Not only did I never want to be a writer,
I HATED WRITING.
I was so paralyzed by school writing assignments, that I would put them off until the night before they were due. Through tears of desperation, I would scramble to write something, anything. Getting a bad grade wasn’t an option in my mind but neither was writing.
When I was young, my father, who lived in another country, begged me to write to him. I loved the thought of it: pretty stationary, the perfect pen, a fun stamp. I knew I “should” write to him but I never sent one letter. I felt ashamed, but not enough to write.
I started several journals, from grade school to college, and always gave up after a dozen pages. I was so embarrassed by my thoughts that I would rip out the pages, tear them into indistinguishable shreds and hide them in the bottom of a garbage can. I would have burned them if I had dared.
Twenty years ago something completely unexpected happened.
I DISCOVERED MY FIRST BLOG.
The Skinny Daily
Short, daily essays on weight loss and fitness from a really average woman who lost 100 lbs. and works every day to keep it off.
I was instantly fascinated.
Not with Skinny’s weight loss struggle, but with blogging.
I followed a link to sign up, wrote two sentences and hit publish.
I told everyone about my blog but no one read it.
Why would they?
They already knew more than they wanted to know about me and they didn’t even know what this weird blogging thing was.
Why would anyone post their personal thoughts and photos online for the whole world to see?
(Weren’t we so adorable back then?)
As a youngest child, I was used to being ignored but I was also stubborn so I kept writing.
I didn’t understand where this overwhelming desire came from but all of the sudden, I couldn’t stop myself.
NOW I KNOW!
I wanted to say things the people in my life didn’t want to hear and I wanted to say them in a way that had never been said before.
I was searching for a deeper understanding of myself and the world around me.
Over time I gained regular readers and some of my closest friends.
My words were loved and hated but I didn’t care either way.
For the first time in my life,
I was having interesting conversations.
Those conversations gave me the freedom to grow in ways I never imagined possible.
Yet there was still so much I didn’t know.
I certainly didn’t know where my words would take me.
Imagine if I could go back and tell my thirty year old self the direction her life would go?
The thought makes me laugh out loud because she wouldn’t have believed it.
I WAS THERE FOR THE WHOLE THING AND I STILL DON’T BELIEVE IT!
The journey to now has been a crazy adventure.
So much of it was painful and scary but I can finally see that it couldn’t have happened any other way.
I needed to feel safe.
I had to know what every tomorrow would look like.
I saw other people seemingly content to live their lives on repeat, day after day.
I actually pictured myself doing that.
Living my life like everyone else.
Only better.
I was determined to figure things out.
I was going to do it right.
This idea suffocated me for a very long time.
Then gradually and all at once, the cloud of my childhood dreams lifted and I could breathe and see like never before.
As my old beliefs fell away, all that was left was the terrifyingly brilliant truth that changed everything.
The answer I was searching for…
The thing I was running from…
Like the sun hidden behind dark clouds…
Always there…
Shining brightly…
Me!
Perfect exactly the way I was,
Without doing or becoming.
My thoughts…
My hopes…
My fears…
My habits…
My body…
My journey…
Every moment of me…
BLINDINGLY PERFECT.
Today, everything is different.
Yet here I am.
Still firmly headed into the unknown.
Asking new questions.
Consumed by thoughts no one wants to hear.
Wondering…
What if I could start sharing again?
What if I’m not as alone as I feel?
Why does it seem so much harder this time?
This time I have too many stories to tell and I don’t know where to start.
This time is different because I know what I don’t know.
What if I say too much?
What if I don’t say enough?
What if people read it?
What if they don’t?
Twenty years ago I had no agenda and no expectations.
I wasn’t trying to know anything or impress anyone.
I was only writing for me.
I was only writing about today.
Twenty years ago I simply published my first post:
Ok, I have just discovered this blogging stuff and had to make one of my own. Why haven’t I heard of it before?
February 18, 2004
What if it could be that easy?
What if I didn’t have to make myself?
WHAT IF I COULDN’T STOP MYSELF?
