Writing for My Life

I started journaling in 1st grade. My mom died when I was five and writing at such a young age helped me profoundly. I remember the boys would try to steal my journal and I realized how special those words were to me. They were sure I was writing about them (maybe sometimes I was) and they were hooked on getting that “diary”!

My journal grew as I did, it had prayers, letters to my mom, all my secret thoughts, anger, drawings, dried flowers. From a young age, I knew a Monday was not just another Monday. I knew that it was a day that never was before and never would be again. A passing moment in time that is here now and never to return. Nothing is mundane. Each day was unique, different from any other day before and different than any day to come. I think seeing your mom die when you are just a little girl brings you smack dap, front and center of what really matters. IF you let it. If you don’t let hurt and anger eat you up. There’s a quote in the Bible, “Do not harden your hearts.” Pretty much sums it up. Writing helped keep my heart soft.

Writing is not always easy; it demands patience, honesty, and the willingness to confront both the good and the bad. But that’s also what makes it so rewarding. Writing has become a way to ground myself, to explore and challenge my beliefs, and to capture moments in time that might otherwise be lost. It’s a lifelong companion, a faithful friend that gives me clarity.