Why is my Writing a Gift to the World?

Sark writing

Knowing that I was not “the only one having human experiences” is what made me fall in love with reading. Later, it’s what made me fall in love with writing.

Why I write, tends to evolve. But at the core, the reason why I write is because I find forgiveness, courage, realizations and remembering. I hope that my writing offers that to those who read it as well.

Each time I put my pen to paper or fingers to the keyboard, whether I am working on fiction or a post for this blog, I never quite know what will come out. I don’t know what I will discover, realize, remember. And that is what makes it so exciting.

Not knowing used to scare me. It used to keep me from showing up to the page. I’d think,”Shit, I just wrote my character into a corner and I have zero idea of what happens next.”

Now, I find myself curious. And that curiosity gets me to the page.

While I hope my words my words resonate with others, that they help them find a way into forgiveness or courage, realizations or remembering, the real gift of my writing is that it allows me to show up in the world authentic and beautifully flawed. My writing keeps me tethered to all aspects of myself—the parts I love and the parts that shame me. Writing gives me no place to hide and as I learn to have compassion for all those parts, that compassion spills out into the world.

May that be my gift to the world.

WYA Day 1: Why I Write

Dive deep

Image found via Pinterest.

Why I write.

I write to dive in past the shallow surface of life.

I write to remember who I was, who I am and who it is possible for me to be.

Writing is a thread that ties my experiences together and reveals something deeper.

I write to dislodge rage, to soothe anxiety, to revel in joy, to ease shame, to immerse myself in the beautiful chaos of being human, in this body, as this woman, at this time in history that feels as if it is teetering on some huge precipice.

Writing keeps me sane. Or saner amidst the chaos within and without.

If I couldn’t write, I would paint huge sprawling canvases and petite fragile ones and every size in between using line, shape, color and texture to connect with the world around me. Crescents of paint dried under my nails, smudged on my cheek, scraps of paper glued to the delicate bone on the side of my wrist.

Or perhaps I’d weave notes into the air from a piano or guitar, creating a cocoon of sound to both comfort and liberate.

That, right there, is why I write.

It both comforts and liberates me.

I seek solace on the page and I find liberation when the mask is finally shattered and my raw whole self is there, just as I am.

If I couldn’t write or paint or create music, perhaps my creativity would just be me, fully embracing each messy, painful, blissful moment of my life. Writing is my doorway to living from that space.

Writing keeps me awake and present to all of it.

There’s no place to hide when I write.

I’m present to the light and the dark, to the angst and the bliss, to the lies and the truth, the heavy and light, the calm and chaos, the fear and boldness, the mundane and profound.

Me, awake and present to all of it.

That’s why I write.


Creativity Check-in

How much did I write today? (time, words, pages)

2 hours

What did I work on?

3 Morning Pages

3 WYA pages

A blog post


Tired, brain foggy

Greatest obstacle:

Taught three yoga classes so my attention was spread thin today.

Greatest strength:

Making the time anyway, no matter how I felt.

Creative Affirmation:

I show up to the page daily to keep the creative momentum going.