Finding my voice means saying 'fuck you'
When I started this blog, 100 posts ago, I honestly didn't really know what I wanted out of it. It was something to do, a way to take my mind off everything else, and maybe a chance to rant and vent a little bit about the craziness of being a single mom/student midwife/business owner.
What I ended up getting out of it was something I lost somewhere along the way: writing! I know, it's stupid, I should not be surprised that I got writing out of a blog. I mean, a blog is writing, so....duh? When I was younger I wrote all the time, I wrote everything. I kept journals, I wrote poems, I wrote stories, I wrote songs (terrible ones). Words, words, words. I lived for a clever turn of phrase, or the art of putting together a string of simple innocent and harmless words that could bring a person to their very knees. Writing was an outlet for me through everything I ever went through. I could always turn to pen and paper to find the answers and the relief I was looking for.
Over the years, and primarily during my relationship with The Jedi's father where I endured abuse physically as well as mentally and emotionally, I lost touch with writing. The Jedi's father (who I think we can appropriately call Darth) was controlling, manipulative and jealous. The stacks of old journals and poems of mine in our closet were too tempting for him, and he would read them while I was at work and then interrogate and harass me over their contents for hours when I got home. One day, and much to my regret now, I threw all those notebooks in the trash. I didn't write a word for two years.
And then I made this blog.
Little by little writing has come back to me. I am not as eloquent or articulate as I once was, and maybe I lost that edge and "gift" I was accused of having some time ago, but I'm starting to find my voice again, and enjoy writing. Finding your voice sometimes means being able to say "Fuck you" and stand by it. Sometimes it means being honest when you don't want to. Sometimes it means talking about things only 5 out of every 200495955 people will care about. And I love it. Sometimes I have to stop myself from writing several entries in a day because....well, come on. Who is that pathetic?
This blog, whether it gets read by even a single person or not, has been a shoulder and an ear for me to lean on and cry to and laugh and celebrate with. And a safe place to begin speaking again, from the heart. A safe place to find my voice, and try this time to stick with it.
No longer do I want to be a famous writer, nor do I even care if I am ever published. Most of what I write are journal entries anyway, and who publishes those? But I am happy to be writing again, and I can feel myself healing. Remembering the good parts of who I was, and becoming stronger, little by little after all the shit that's happened over the last two years.
So, to anyone that reads this, thank you for sticking around and listening to me. What I say might not always be the most profound or the most important, but every word in this blog means the world to me, and so does you reading it.
And to my blog (yes, I talk to my blog like it's a real person) thank you for everything, and congratulations on 100 posts together. Here's to 100 more, and a voice that's stronger than ever.
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