Never did I, in my wildest dreams, think I’d become a writer. I first began to write down my feelings when I felt down. In the past, I’ve written any where from newsletters for schools to manuals at my business for workflow procedures. I’d help people with letters and forms. I’m not an English major but somehow I was always approached as one. I taught English at the office to employees who wanted to improve theirs. I would mentor and assist with written and verbal English. I read a lot and I collected books. I’m guessing it all helped in preparing me for my current accomplishments of becoming a writer.
Currently, I’m working on a memoir, it’s been painful to write and so I’m taking my time. I have a hard time reliving the past and penning the details. I knew it wouldn’t be an easy task. Slowly but surely, I hope to complete this dream soon.
I also write short stories, they seem easier to present. When I sit down to write a story, fortunately, it comes naturally to me. I connect with a subject and the words just flow. I eventually realized it was a skill I possessed or as someone told me, it’s a gift! After curating pages of these stories, I began sharing them with close friends and the feedback was enough for me to continue.
I enjoy writing. It helps me release my anxiety and allow mental clarity. My past environment never allowed me to be as free with speech, I was always talked over and my opinions were never acknowledged. My suppressed mind has now finally found an avenue to release and be free. I am finally able to practice the power of being open, being validated and owning my space. Writing stimulates my intellect and allows me to reason with subjects that I feel strongly about. I rationalize with my thoughts and thread my words to create content that I hope one day will help someone that is going through much of the same.
I write because it makes me feel free, to voice my stories, to help, even if it’s just one person. I write because it makes me feel heard.