Let's Try This Again

I used to be a good writer. Or, at least, I use to be able to call myself a writer.

I am not entirely sure I could call myself that today. And that’s weird.

For nearly a decade, I talked to people who had done something interesting and told their story to whoever my audience at the time was. Then I was tapped on the shoulder to step into a leadership role at work, and I traded in my writer’s identity for something else. I became a coach to other (very talented) writers, an editor and a ghost-writer for, frankly, some pretty dry, usually unemotional corporate material that goes through more levels of approval than I had when I was writing for an audience of 50,000-plus.

Soul. Sucking.

When I used to speak to aspiring writers at youth events, I’d tell them that writers often have an internal … urge, need, something … inside of them to get onto paper whatever is floating in their heads, or whatever story they’ve had the good fortune to stumble upon. Whatever it is, it can’t stay contained inside of them. And just like a musician must find ways to feed their creative spirit and PLAY, a writer must do the same, and WRITE.

So. I’ve failed to listen to my own advice. It’s not the first time that’s happened, but I’ve done myself no favors in letting such an important part of myself fade away.

When Alivia was sick, writing about her health journey was therapeutic and a good historical documentation for us to reflect back on. But then Tristan came along. Dear, sweet Tristan … whose role as our third child completely sucked up any energy or time I had (which wasn’t much). Life is better with him, but it’s also busier. (Totally worth it, for the record. I mean, just look at him!)

Parenting three kiddos and working a demanding full-time job was not something I settled into easily. Even with a husband who is a very, very involved parent, I spent the first year as a Mom of Three in survival mode. There was no time for reading, writing, sleeping, yoga-ing, etc.

I miss this blog and how it helps me remember the moments and milestones we experience with our family. Since I quit writing, we’ve taken our first family trip to the beach, did Disney, celebrated more milestones than I surely can remember and just “did life” as a family of five. And it’s SUCH A GOOD LIFE.

I’m going to, once again, give this a whirl – start telling my own stories (with no editors…cRaZy!) so that part in me that’s felt silenced has a voice again. And, so when I’m old and senile, I’ll be reminded of how it took THREE-AND-A-HALF-YEARS-AND-COUNTING to potty-train my beloved third child. (Again, totally worth it. ... I mean, I think. ...  No, yep, totally worth it.)