So did anyone else notice that I proclaimed I wanted to be a writer and promptly ... stopped writing altogether?
I'm not really sure what to say. My words feel all bound up in my head, and whenever I see a prompt or a topic or a writing opportunity, the three year old who resides in my brain says "I don't wanna."
I get my feelings hurt easily. I don't take rejection well. So I have trained myself so very carefully over the years to just no try too hard at anything because that will make it so much more crushing when I fail.
Because, ultimately, I will fail. I'm sure of it.
But I don't even know what that means. I don't know what it means to fail because I don't even know what it would look like to succeed.
I have these vague platitudes in my head. I want to write something that matters. I want to create something beautiful. I want to be a real writer.
But I don't know what they mean. In reality.
I hate reality.
I sound like a broken record but I need this because I need a purpose. I have needs for meaning and for productivity and for intellectual stimulation that aren't being met by changing diapers and washing dishes. Sometimes that feels like a failure, like I'm wrong to not be fulfilled by my home and family.
But it's not. I know.
I think that to get where my heart wants me to be, I will probably have to do things that are uncomfortable. And I really don't wanna. And I don't know if I'm asking for a shove or for permission not to. And I don't even really know where it is I'm trying to go. I just know that something is missing and that I think it starts here.
And that scares the crap out of me.