It started innocent. I rarely share any “status updates” on FB unless I am posting something about one of my kids (for family members to read). We had something unexplainable happen in the middle of the night though, so I posted quick about it.
One recently recovered childhood friend commented that I should think about writing. My husband responded with some glowing praise. Another dear friend of mine responded with, “I have wanted her to be a writer sense I have known her. Still waiting………”
I know she didn’t mean for that to hurt but considering how long we’ve been friends… guess the truth hurts, huh? We’ve known one another for around 16 years.
What have I done with 16 years? I’ve done what most mommies do… I made my life my children’s and my family’s. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself. Is that entirely true?
Being honest with myself is the hardest truths to admit to. I’ve always wanted to write and have tried. I find so many reasons though to not finish a darn thing I start though. There are so many reasons. *points back to an older article called Damaged*
I’ve started writing again. I don’t know if I can run fast enough this time to get passed my emotional hang-ups, but we’ll see.
For anyone out there that hears those demons whispering nasty words to destroy your efforts, I understand and send you a hug!