Many years ago I was a devoted, and skilled, writer; I wrote poetry, short stories, and journaled daily. Somewhere along the line I decided to go back and read through old journal entries that allowed pains that I had long forgotten to resurface. It was at that point in time that I gave up writing.
It took me nearly a decade to realize that I had robbed myself of something beautiful. I had allowed pain and negativity to convince me to give up something that was cathartic. Worst of all, I had allowed the pain and negativity to convince me to destroy many of the writings that I had poured my heart and soul into, as though destroying those writings would somehow serve to rewrite my history into something a little less painful. You see, the thing about writing (and keeping record of it) is that it’s always there to serve as a reminder of what your past truly was. Without written record of your history it seems that the lines blur a little easier and you are able to convince yourself that things were somehow different. Once you turn your eyes to past writings the lines become very clear again and you are reminded of what your story truly is.
Just as much as past writings can conjure past hurts, they can help you to relive past blessings. The little moments that get lost in the chaos of daily life, yet are precious nuggets that we should hold onto tightly. My daughter is almost 4 and my son is almost 1 and in their short lives I have done both them and myself a disservice by not channeling that inner devoted, skilled writer to ensure that precious moments are preserved in their mother’s writings. They, and my husband, are the reason for my return to writing. My children because they deserve to have the writings to look back on and my husband because he believes in, and supports, me enough to encourage me to do so.
There may be things in our pasts that hurt when we later review them, but there will also be so, so many things that bring us so much joy. We all deserve to have the feelings of joy resurface.