Growing up, writing was used as my outlet. Writing saved me from a handful of what could’ve been life threatening events. As a kid, I would write lyrics, poems, and even children’s books. I entered multiple poetry contests throughout elementary school and won quite a few. My friends and I would pretend we were singers, and create melodies from lyrics that I wrote.
Writing became a vital part of my life at a young age. My life revolved around my journal. As I grew older, writing became more than just a cute hobby I had as a child, it evolved into something much more meaningful.
I write because it got me through my parents’ divorce…
When I was 12 years old, my parents decided they were going to separate. I used to write down my feelings, because I never wanted them to know how I felt. Essentially, I blamed myself. I thought maybe it was me, or my brother, but later found out that they pretended to love each other for a long time. That truth hurt more than believing the divorce was my fault. Love was supposed to be a beautiful part of life, and just like that – love became the enemy for me. I rebelled. I was the kid who had two homes, two beds, two sets of rules to abide by, but all of my emotions went into one journal. Every night, I wrote. I wrote how I felt day-to-day, whether it was getting better or worse – usually worse. Until one day, writing wasn’t my go-to relief. I moved on to different friends, bad decisions, and I gathered up my emotions and used them in a negative way which affected my future.
I write because it saved my life…
My first year of high school was anything but an memorable time. Being a freshman is hard enough, but all the terrible decisions I made the year prior began to come back and haunt me. Lunches were spent in the bathroom stall, bus rides were spent crying. I walked the halls starring at the ground, refusing to face the harsh reality that was now my life. I couldn’t talk to anyone because I had no one. All of my friends were too embarrassed to associate with me, my family had no idea – if they did, they’d probably disown me. I had nobody except my journal.
I write because it allows me to open up…
Every night in between tears, I wrote another paragraph. I write because it allows me to express my feelings, avoiding judgment and helps me to refrain from bottling it up inside. The night I felt that I couldn’t do it anymore, the night I wanted to give up and never feel this pain again was also the night I realized I would use my writing to inform my parents. I sent them a cry for help, and they answered with arms wide open. Long story short, writing literally saved my life.
I write because it got me through my best friends fight with cancer…
My grandmother grew very sick with leukemia. She battled it for a couple of months when I was 15, and then she beat it. We witnessed a miracle, and I was able to keep my best friend for another three years. As I approached my senior year, the cancer came back with a vengeance. It was our worst nightmare come true. She couldn’t fight as hard, although she tried. I wrote about the hate I felt towards this terrible disease and how much I’d miss her after she was gone. My journal filled up with dry tears and strong words in regards to Memaw’s fight. She held on for some time, until she informed us that “her time was up.” We gave her the peace she needed, and told her to let go … and she did, three days before my high school graduation. I wrote about how angry I was that she was taken away from us before being able to witness her first grandchild graduate from high school. I wrote about how she’ll never be a great grandmother, how she’ll never watch me walk down the aisle, or how I’ll never be graced by one of her hugs again.
Eventually, I used my writing as a way to write to her. I wrote about her, about our memories and about everything I’ve learned from her. And, I turned it into a eulogy for her funeral.
I write because it assisted me during heartbreaks and allowed me to step out of my comfort zone…
At 18, I thought I met the love of my life. I wrote some words – mostly hearts and doodles. It was my first real relationship, and I thought it was going to be my last. A year later, I realized that first loves rarely ever last. So, I wrote. I put words in my journal expressing the heartbreak I was enduring, and how I so badly wanted it to end. I blamed myself, I didn’t know where I went wrong. I read it over and over again until it clicked. In this case, my writing opened my eyes. I didn’t love myself, so, it was nearly impossible to love another.
I stayed in my comfort zone for quite a few years. I didn’t steer away from what I was used to. I went to school, went to class, hung out with the same friends, and spent the next three years on and off with that first love who broke my heart in so many pieces. It was all I knew, and it was all I cared for.
After some time, I stood up for myself. I wasn’t growing, or experiencing anything new. I needed to step out of my comfort zone, find myself, and move on. Every day, I wrote down goals – long term and short term. I accomplished them one by one, and found myself a whole new person. A person that I enjoyed to be around, whom I loved, who I knew was better off than the old one.
I write because it’s a form of therapy…
It helps me heal, it gives me the ability to release my stress and anger in a way that is calming to myself, yet, productive. It allows me to look back at how far I’ve come. Writing has been there for me when nobody else was, when nobody else cared, and when nobody else understood. If it weren’t for my journal, I don’t know where I’d be today.
I enjoy writing because it’s brought me so far…
I’ve become a better writer from simply writing as a hobby. Now, in my senior year of college I will be graduating with a bachelor’s in journalism. My hobby has come full circle, and it’s helped me grow into the women I’ve become.