I have always had a passion for writing. Throughout my childhood I was actively writing in a diary. Mind you many of those entries consisted of a play by play of my life as a ten year old. As I aged so did my entries. I was beginning to understand the concept of a diary and by this time I began to use the more mature word, journal. I began to write about my feelings, my emotions, my wants, and my needs. I had the ability to reflect upon a memory or occasion and transfer those feelings into words. My mother would always encourage me to write and firmly believed that the pen was my voice. It was my only chance to thoroughly speak my mind and clearly make my point.
Once I turned 18 I began to stray away from journal writing and began to write poetry. I loved the emotions that came with writing a poem. I was able to pull from my experiences and create little pieces of art. I was an “adult” learning how to survive in the real world. I was feverishly writing for the next few years. I have to admit most of what I wrote about was about the relationships I was in. I knew how to pick some real winners (hoping you catch the sarcasm there). However looking back this gave me the ability to write some of my best work. Nothing like an angry woman writing about a man that has done her wrong. I possibly could of been a little dramatic. But this allowed me to look deep into the hurt and pour it all out onto the paper.
Obviously this all changed once I met the man that would change the perception I had of the whole entire male species. This is when I experienced my first struggle. I was happy, ecstatic, and in love which caused me to not know how to write. I was confused. How does anyone write about love? I never did. I thought I had loved before but in reality it was nothing compared to the feeling I had for this man. So my poetry was put on the back burner.
Throughout the next few years I dabbled in writing. I became so consumed with life that I found it difficult to find my voice and for that matter a pen. I would occasionally write a poem and I even had a journal but found myself struggling to keep a commitment to it. I have forgotten how much joy I get out of putting my thoughts down on paper. The ability to release the thoughts that keep me captive in my own mind.
I have tossed around the idea of doing a blog for some time now. I find it to be a wonderful opportunity to share events, occasions, and thoughts with everyone. So this is the beginning. The beginning of an adventure. The beginning of a goal. The beginning of putting my thoughts down once more on paper (or in this case the screen). This blog will be about me, my family, my life.