Unlocking Doors

Writing for me was always an escape from my life as a child. I loved to write poetry in elementary school but was never allowed to do anything with it, until I did.

We had a write a book contest at school, entries were required as a class assignment so I entered a poem about being on a roller coaster. I placed third in the state, but I was terribly embarrassed. No one cared. I was so thrilled inside but met with such an attitude of indifference that it made me feel like it wasn’t a “real” accomplishment. It was a fluke, if only they had known me they surely would have not chosen me.

Several decades later, and with several chapters only started, I still struggle with the confidence that what I have to say adds anything of value. I’ve started many books, mostly loose memoirs on growing up in dysfunction, and quickly convince myself that my story is not worthy.

I know better, but those old feelings creep in. Writing gives me, especially the young me, a voice and perspective.

It helps me to be a better parent and break cycles of dysfunction, it shakes up the perfect looking scenes of my childhood and reveals what was really behind doors so I can now walk freely through that space without fear.

My ultimate goal would be to write a book, and have it help one person to know they’re not alone.