Most writers will tell you there are times when they feel paralyzed. Right now is one of those times for me. I start to write something and I erase it all because it sounds
But I push through it. I keep typing and figure if my fingers keep moving, maybe something worthwhile will come out eventually.
Part of the problem is that my mind is so full that I don’t know where to start. So much life has happened and I don’t know what to share first. Add to that the fear that what I have to say will be irrelevant to everyone… so why bother? Or, sometimes I feel paralyzed because I have so much raw emotion over something that to write about it will cheapen the subject, or I feel as if I may not accurately express what is really in my heart.
Yet I must write. I must write because if I don’t, I will burst into a million tiny pieces and if I burst into a million tiny pieces no one will be able to put me together (unless they’re some sort of freakishly gifted puzzle master) and if no one can put me back together then who will make dinner? It’s a real problem. My boys said so. One night, a few years ago, when I told them that I was going to quit being their mother (not my most mature moment), one of them said with a most concerned expression, “But who would make us dinner?”
So, you see, this is why I must write. Otherwise, if I burst into a million pieces I would not be the mother that my children need in order to have dinner each night. In fact, I would no longer be a mother. Period. I would just be a big mess scattered all over the floor.
Plus, sometimes I actually do have something interesting to say. And sometimes people do want to laugh at the antics I share here. And sometimes, during the best of times, there are people who relate to what I have to say and no longer feel all alone in this ginormous world of ours.
It’s been a long time coming. This attempt at writing again. From my last blog post, it’s been about five months. But all of those reasons I mentioned above were mental stumbling blocks – an overloaded mind, the fear of being irrelevant, and raw emotion from life experiences that I feel I could not capture in words.
Tonight then is simply about writing. Tonight is like a jump start. A recharging. A breakthrough. In future posts, I will delve into the incredible sorrow of losing a friend in March to the joy of climbing a mountain this summer with my family and friends to the continued craziness of raising four boys as a divorced working (and dating) woman. But for now, I’m feeling what it means to push through the paralysis and back into the writing life. And I’ll keep pushing even as I try to come up with some catchy or clever way to end this post. Even as I type this sentence ten times and then erase it because it all sounds so cliche, I will keep pushing because