According to the date on my last blog post, it has been almost a full year since I’ve written anything online. Unfortunately, I haven’t done much writing offline either. I may need a few more years in therapy to figure out why it is so hard for me to write, when the words come so easily to me. When my partner asks me why I don’t write more often I tell him it’s because writing is like giving away apart of my self. That may be true but I also think writing, especially writing something on a public forum, leaves me open to rejection and feeling exposed.
Once, at the height of my passion for writing, I decided it was time for me to write my memoirs. I had lived and loved and had so much to say on the matter. I was at the ripe old age of 16. Yeah, I thought I knew it all. I had just broken up with my first and only boyfriend. I was so dramatic and everything happening in my life was epic. You know, like the life of every teenage girl in the world. Yet somehow I felt I was unique in my love and experiences. So I grabbed the nearest spiral notebook and began writing about my love life. I had only written about a paragraph before my mom called me to get ready so we could go grocery shopping. Not sure why I thought taking my notebook with me was necessary but I grabbed it and headed to the living room. I left it on the couch while I went to the bathroom. When I came back I found my mom sitting on the couch waiting for me and reading my notebook. I was horrified! Not just because it held some rated R things my mother did not know about me. Also, I could not believe she or anyone would just violate my privacy so easily. The thought never occurred to me simply because up until that moment I had nothing of my own to keep secret. Of course she immediately asked me what it was. I told her it was a story I was writing. She inquired if any of it was true. I responded with a resounding no. Luckily for me my mother hates confrontations about things that make her uncomfortable and she dropped it and we left for the store.
From that moment on I have had a fear of writing. I have great story ideas that I think up or dream and sometimes I even begin to write them down. I don’t usually get very far. An outsider may think I’m just too lazy or undisciplined but mostly I’m just scared. Scared someone will violate my privacy and read my most personal thoughts. That would lead to the possibility of rejection. If there is anything I am more afraid of then having my mind read, it’s being rejected. I know what you’re thinking, then I’ll never make it as a writer. Well ladies and gents that’s why I am here. I am done daydreaming and waiting for someone to come and save me from my life. I am hear to face my fears, save my self and make my life happen.
You’ll be hearing from me again soon.
P.S. I know I’ve touched on this story in a previous blog, but it’s been so long I had forgotten. However, since I was moved to write about it now I figured it was because it’s still an ongoing issue for me and worth revisiting.