Monday, August 8, 2016

Telling My Story

I use to write all the time.  Most of what I wrote I kept hidden.  I felt like it was too depressing and not good enough to show to others.  I’d always been complimented on my writing and had even won contests in high school and college with essays that I’d written.  Still, I was very insecure about my talents.


Once I started sharing my work with people they agreed that some of it was depressing (that’s the place where I was for a big chunk of my life) but they agreed that it was good writing.


I started to build confidence and started dreaming of being a “real” writer. I began entering writing competitions and submitting to be published in different publications.  


I wasn’t being very successful so the old insecurities came back.  Maybe my writing wasn’t very good.


So I stopped writing.


But, not writing felt wrong.  Writing had always been an outlet for me.  I’m not very good at verbalizing my feelings but give me pencil and paper and I won’t shut up.  As I thought about it, it didn’t make a lot of sense to stop something that was beneficial to my well-being.  


There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. (Maya Angelou)


I’ve had a lot of experiences in my life… some good, some bad.  They were all opportunities for learning and growth.  Writing them down ensures that I don’t forget.  Maybe someone will stumble along what I’ve written and learn something that will help them.  


Who knows, maybe I will hit it big one and wind up on a shelf in Barnes and Nobles.  I can’t let the possibility of that not happening deter me from doing what is so much a part of me.  Even if only a handful of people read it, I still must write.  If I don’t tell my story, who will?


And when my time is up
Have I done enough?
Will they tell my story?
(Hamilton)