Do you remember the dreams you had as a child, back when you believed you could be or do anything? So many of us gave up those childhood dreams because we thought we needed to ‘grow up’, ‘get a real job’ and ‘be responsible’. When I was young, I wanted to be a writer more than anything else. I began writing at a very early age – and I would write about anything! Stories, poems, papers about spiders or horses, children’s books, romances – pretty much anything that came to mind was fair game. These writings were not for school, they weren’t a project or an assignment. I simply wrote them for fun because I enjoyed it.
Throughout my school years and into college, I continued to write. Most of the time, it was for an assignment, but sometimes I would still write just for my own enjoyment. But life changes, and once I became a wife and a mother, my love for putting a pen to paper was pushed to the side as I became busy with play dates, laundry, grocery shopping, parent teacher conferences, car pools, class trips, sporting events, and all of the busyness of raising three children, working, and trying to make ends meet.
Fast forward to 2009…I was suddenly a single mom, and the kids were getting older. One day it occurred to me that I missed it. I missed the accomplishment of seeing words come to life on a blank piece of paper (or computer screen) and I vowed that ‘some day’ I would write again. But writing wasn’t going to pay the bills, so once again, my dreams were put on a back shelf to collect dust while I struggled to keep our family above water and out of bankruptcy.
And then one day, I simply decided it was time. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t examine how it would happen, and didn’t wonder if it would ever add any financial stability to my life. I just started writing, and it felt right again. For me, it has always been therapeutic to see something develop from my mind to the written word. Some sort of accomplishment in the creative process, the re-reading and re-writing until it sounded just the way it had in my head.
I now realize that this is simply a part of my life that needs to not just be acknowledged, but also needs to be fostered and allowed to grow and flourish. Will it ever be income producing? I guess that remains to be seen. But whether it is or isn’t, I find comfort in the fact that even though it took me years to come back to those childhood dreams, I stayed true to that young child and I grew up to be a writer.
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