I Just Word Vomitted.

How does one know whether or not they are a talented writer? Does it matter? I feel like I am, so does that make me one? What is it that makes me think I am a talented writer? How do I know that what I have to say (if anything) is of value to anyone else? I struggle with that thought. It seems to me like all that is of importance has already been said; already been lived. We as a people know deep down, what makes the world go round. The philosophers have written all the deep thoughts and musings on the meaning of life. The authors have recorded all the stories of triumph, love, failure, and pain. So where do I fit in? My story is not one that hasn’t been written before. Even my perspective on the things I have overcome is not unique. I am in such a different place than a lot of peers my age are. Past the “life’s a party” and “I’m invincible” phase, but without a degree of any sort to really start any kind of career.

I feel as if I’m in limbo. I have a two and a half year old, and am about to have another baby. I don’t have an outside job. So, technically, I fall into the “stay at home parent” category. But that doesn’t feel right to me, either. Of course, I love being able to watch my daughter grow, and to spend wonderful moments with her. She has helped shape me into who I am today. She’s always good for when I’m feeling down or insecure- I just stop what I’m doing and play with her. Soon enough, those feelings dissipate. But there is something else in me that wants to be heard. So often I feel the calling to sit down and write. And yet, I never trust that what I have to say is worthy or of value, so I pretend I don’t hear that song, calling me to put words onto a page.

Logically, I know what I should do. I should force myself to sit down and write each day, for a set amount of time. Just let the words come forth, regardless if they have any meaning or even make sense. Maybe it’s because I’m scared of what will appear on those pages. Maybe there is a truth that I’m not ready or unwilling to see just waiting to be written. Or, maybe I’m simply wallowing in self-doubt and fear. I want to be successful, who doesn’t? I have the passion for writing (albeit stifled at the moment), and things I want to say, so why haven’t I started pursuing it?

I think about this a lot. Even when I tell myself daily affirmations such as “I am enough” or “My voice is unique”, nothing has yet to emerge. I know I also allow myself to be side tracked by other things in life, like money, physical appearances, kids, relationships with others, etc. It just continues to feel like I am floating through my journey in life, not really invested in any one category, or too afraid to try.

Wow, I had a lot to get out. I kind of word vomited all over you, dear reader. Be gentle with me, ok?

xoxo