Well…. umm hi, it’s been a minute – 5 months if we really want to get technical.
I suppose I have some explaining to do.
Writing and connecting to people through words has been a passion of mine for as long as I can remember, but recently I misplaced that passion – I’m not going to say I lost it, because that would mean it’s not coming back, and you best believe that it’ll be back.
I think if I had to pinpoint when I realised I loved writing, it would have been in year 3 or 4, so around 10 years old – I was part of this counselling group for kids that had been through, what my primary school considered, a ‘trauma’.
I now jokingly refer to this group as ‘The Sad Kids Club’; because what better way to make kids who had been through some shit feel more isolated and different to their peers, than by pulling them out of class and telling them they needed to be part of a special group, because what had happened to them wasn’t ‘normal’ – figures, right?!
Anyway, as part of Sad Kids Club (which had a mixture of kids who had lost parents, had a broken family, their home lives weren’t ideal etc) one of the activities we had to do was write letters about our situations and try to be open about the feelings we were experiencing.
Well didn’t I fucking go to town; I remember my head being buried in thickly lined paper and my pencil (because I wasn’t old enough for a pen license yet, god damn) moving at a mile a minute.
I was somehow able write down every little thing I had been feeling but hadn’t been able to express physically – how I was sad, angry and confused all at the same time and it made me feel sane again, the weight that had lifted was enormous, just by putting some words on a piece of paper.
From then, whenever I felt anything, I wrote it down.
So as ridiculous as I think Sad Kids Club was, I guess I have to thank it for showing me that you can connect with people and give a voice to those who might not otherwise be heard through the power of writing.
But over the last 5 or so months I’ve questioned my passion for writing because I had been happy, which you might think is crazy ridiculous and would have the opposite effect, but for years I had always relied on pain to fuel my writing, whether it my own or someone else’s.
I didn’t think I could write as well about being in a good place mentally or that it would reach someone in the same way that talking about being in a shitty mental state does – if that makes sense?
But why the fuck should I not be yelling from the rooftops that my head is happy, my body is healthy and that the world isn’t so grey all the time?!
That’s not to say that I don’t still have bad days and that I’m anxiety free because ya girl is not impartial to a mental breakdown – but I’m not so sad anymore and that’s really, really nice.
And I suppose I didn’t want to jinx that by writing about it or feel guilty for taking care of and focusing solely on myself for the last few months, but I’m now realising that it is totally okay, and I’m allowed to have time out to become reinspired and reinvigorated creatively again.
I guess that brings us to now and to let you know that it’s okay to maybe lose sight of what you love for a minute, but if you pick yourself back up, dust yourself off and come back bigger and better than ever, you’ll be fine.
I’m ready to start writing again, to find people who amaze me and give them a voice and just have conversations about the important things happening in our world today.
So here I am; not making any promises to put content out every day, or every week for that matter, but I’m definitely making a comeback to the storytelling space and I’m hella excited about it.