When I was at school I loved writing. It was a blissful escape for me. I could create a new world and disappear into it. This was especially great when I was at secondary school with the bullying, hating myself and missing my mum. I was in year 9 when my English teacher accused me of cheating, of plagiarising and it really hurt me. She said that what I had written was too good to have come from me and thus I must have copied it. I wrote it. It was a poem about a magical horse. For most my childhood my ponies were simply my best friends. They were my saviours. I cried with them, talked to them and found freedom with them. The magical horse story wasn’t so far fetched for me. I wrote a poem about love and friendship. I wrote about feelings. I wrote honestly and freely. I was shot down. It hurt. When you put your all into something and someone tells you it’s too good to be yours. I guess now looking at it it was a compliment. However at the time I truly felt I had put myself out there only to be told to get back down.
If you read my blogs you will see spelling and grammatical mistakes all over the shop. I have never been formally diagnosed but I’m pretty sure I have some for of dyslexia. I can spell a word right in one sentence and by the next have no idea how to spell it. I can read words easily and naturally then struggle to be able to comprehend the word the next time I see it. It miss whole parts of sentences out of my writing but when I read the paragraph back I read the text as being there. I struggle with knowing left and right. I have terrible hand writing. These things were always an issue at school and whilst I did ok academically it was not my forte. I just didn’t fit in. I was always wanting to escape. School felt like somewhere I was made to feel even more ‘not good enough’.
For the above reason I never pursued writing. I left it. I would write for myself when I was in really low times. When I was full of self pity. I would write to try and express all the things I was feeling. For me writing was like having someone to talk to when physically I didn’t feel I had anyone. It was never something I wanted to share. It was never something I thought I was good at or had any business doing. It changed only because I had my boobs removed. I wanted to express how I felt about the whole thing. For the 1st time in years I wanted to write. Most of all I wanted to be honest. I wanted to be myself. That was something I had avoided for years. Thus the gates were open and since then I’ve been writing.
Writing for me helps me realise so much about myself and about the world. It’s just away for me to express myself. Sometimes I may try and talk on some of the topics I write about but when I do it’s never are clear and concise as when I write. Very often I read back what I’ve written and I have no memory of writing the words. It’s like I didn’t write them. In part I believe that to be true. Whilst my fingers do the typing or my hands hold the pen the words are just there. I don’t think I just write. To me that makes me feel like I am absolutely on purpose. That makes me feel like the universe is working through me to create something it wants in the world. That’s a beautiful feeling. My ego may want to take responsibility for my writing but it has nothing to do with it, I have nothing to do with it. I don’t have to fight or force it. I just let it happen. It’s really the only thing that gives me this feeling and I have put it off for years.
I really want to write a book. I started a while ago with the introduction and then I left it. I walked away. Why? Because I have these thoughts ‘what business do I have writing a book?’ and ‘who is going to read your book’ or ‘your are not a writer’ etc etc etc. It’s crazy how our minds work against us. It’s crazy how they are our enemy with in. I thought traveling would be the perfect way for me to get into a space where I could write my book but since I left home 6 months ago I have written one word. I have thought about the book but I haven’t been able to write the book. When I think about it I feel overwhelmed and scared. I feel like I would know where to start or what to write. In a way I’m correct. If ‘I’ try to write this book I will struggle but if I just let go and write, let the worlds flow out of me and onto the page then maybe I can do this.
Recently I have been thinking about it a lot, even mentioning it to a friend. It seem that sometimes when we are thinking things, especially things that feel so right to us but we have doubts the universe (inter change this for god, the source, allah or anything else) tries to give us the push we need. I checked my email and had an email from someone talking about an article I did for Cosmo magazine over a year ago. It was really nice, cheeky and funny but it was the final few words that got me.
‘Are you still travelling? Just got into your blog on travel having seen your photo write up in Cosmo from last October. Yea I know, was in a cafe and picked up a magazine saw Kelis and saw your arse . I like a woman to have a great arse just my thing. Started reading the article and was moved by your story, your health, your family, your quest.
Noticed there was no update for June so just wishing your still well and feeling powerful and pushing back those low moods. Intriguedby your journey for mind and yea, soul and im listening to woman’s hour (yea yea) and they are talking about the identified genes found in breast cancer and how they might ‘footstep’ the genes on the near future. Best wishes to you, but you need to start writing the book….don’t you.’
It gave me goosebumps and filled me with a crazy amount of energy. The book had been tapping me on the shoulder and here was someone I don’t know reminding me in such away that a question was posed. A question I know the answer to. That was the end. Literally 10 minutes later I was on Facebook and my lovely friend Damien dropped me a message about my latest blog post.
See even if I don’t have faith in me the universe does. It send me the people I need with the words I need to give me a kick up the arse. To make me realise that writing a book is not a pipe dream or something stupid it is something I have to do. It doesn’t matter if it’s not successful, it doesn’t matter it’s never published but what does matter is that I don’t deny myself or the universe something that so clearly wants to be made. Life is a beautiful thing with it’s ups and downs. It does left, right, straight forward and backwards. It’s a flow, it’s a experience, it’s a place to learn and it’s place to grow, to expand and to become yourself.
The only things that can stop you are the things inside. They are the things that tell you there is no point doing it if no one is going to watch it, read it, notice it etc. It is they who will tell you it’s a waste of time.They’ll tell you that you aren’t good enough or that it simply can’t be achieved. They are your mind. If you have never been aware of this before check in with your mind and see what it’s tell you. It constantly chatting about something. Is it telling you how great you are and how you can achieve anything you set out to? Because if it isn’t then your mind is going rogue and feeding you constant lies that are shaping how you see yourself and the world. It’s time for you to become very aware of what this little trickster is up to. Start watching it and seeing for yourself the games it plays. Then ask yourself if I am the one watching my mind, the mind I identify with and think I am, if I can just watch that mind then who am I?
Have a great Sunday,