The Cycle I Needed to Break Was My Own

I was talking to my lifelong friend today (and by lifelong, I mean we met in junior high, became bosom buddies immediately and still talk regularly). Darcie has been encouraging me in my writing since we met, and for some reason in the past six months, it has come to mean something more to me. As a matter of fact, any encouragement I receive from friends, family, even strangers, means something different than it ever has. Why?

I think it’s because I am different. The way I view myself, and therefore any talents, dreams, aspirations or goals I may have, in a different light than I did before.

I have been a writer of sorts all of my life. By that, I mean I have gone off on daydreams since I could think, told stories since I could speak, and yes, written since I learned how. I’ve been aware of my talent since I was a child. Though I wanted to be a teacher (and succeeded in that for many years), I always followed that declaration with the caveat: “But eventually, a writer.”

I have stories and poetry that go back to my teens. I have novels I started at sixteen. There are children’s book manuscripts and short stories galore in my paper files, even more on various storage devices and computers from over the years. I have actually been somewhat prolific in my output. But I have had zero success in actually completing, submitting or publishing.

I have not been a finisher of much of ANYTHING in life. My old joke is, “The last thing I finished was high school.” Now, don’t get me wrong, I finished high school with a baby on my hip by completing 17 classes in my final term… on honor roll. Folks, I used to be able to rise to a challenge! But I have been a drop out, a quitter, a give up gal, ever since. And not just with college (three times), but everything from furniture refinishing, house repairs and remodels, weight loss plans, even my first marriage, which I put off finishing for almost eleven years after it should have ended.

To put it simply: I emitted one great hurrah! and spent the rest of my life clapping softly for myself.

Despite my brutal self-honesty, I am in no way beating up on myself. Just telling me like I am. Or have been. I just have a wicked sense of humor about life and my role in it.

I had spent my adult life until 2017 going with the flow, being miserable and disappointed, and generally failing at life. A little over four years ago, things began to change, and I will certainly blog about the event in the future, but to keep it short my brother and best friend died suddenly… and I became aware of myself, my life, my unhappiness and my mortality all at once. My “transformation” was not instantaneous, and it was in no way pretty. It was painful and I almost didn’t survive it. His death was a catalyst for change in my life.

The only thing about the change I went through that was quick was my realization about accepting the wrong sort of love in my life. Because I am a writer by nature, I began writing about that, but in fits and starts, punctuated by binge drinking and bad relationships. I’d never really thought about what kind of man I wanted and needed for a partner, and so my solitary requirement was love. I was naive, and because of this I was always miserable in the resulting relationships. I didn’t know what I deserved, not from others and especially not from me.

I love my parents and my family endlessly, but my brother and I had a special relationship from the time we were kids. We just liked each other. By the time I was fourteen and he was twenty, we stopped fighting with each other. We traveled, hung out, went to concerts, worshipped at church together as much as we could. He accepted me with no requirement of change, treated me with humor and respect, and took care of me. He helped me raise my daughter as a single parent, and loved her as his own. Shawn loved my grandchildren as much as I do. His death was devastating for all of us. But it made me realize I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life in an unhappy relationship with anyone, romantically or otherwise, and that I had a finite amount of time to create another hurrah! and it was time to get started- on all fronts.

In my lifetime I have been a teacher, a cook, a barista, a caregiver, a business owner, a cashier, a waitress, a contractor. I have also flirted with being a nurse, a real estate agent and a behavioral analyst. I have been successful at many things, and I’ve given up on both the successes and the failures with equal feelings.

After I met Brick (my fiancée and future husband here in 48 days), things slowly started coming together and approaching a place where I feel like my writing has a place of importance. We bought a home (my first) and started the monumental task of renovating. Part of that renovation has been me gutting the master bedroom closet upstairs to create a little office for myself. Having a dedicated space that is mine, for my craft, has made this a little more real. I am sitting in that little nook right now. It makes me feel important, real and genuine.

But the biggest push has been me, listening to that encouragemrnt and deciding it means something. Me, making the choice to speak aloud the things i dream about for my career (tenth time is a charm, right?) and simply telling people, “I AM A WRITER!” It’s terrifying to say it to your friends and family, mortifying to say it to the world at large… and completely freeing to say it to myself. The change has been in me, telling me, I can do it and I am going to.

This blog alone is life-changing proof of that. It’s a big part of the start. I hope you’ll join me for the rest of it.