The wonder in writing

 

Looking through some old pictures and letters, I came across a little story I had written on a small piece of paper when I was a little girl. I can remember having quite the imagination and was always making up stories.

I struggled to see my capabilities.

Early on during grade school, I was diagnosed with Dyslexia. Other than being put into Title One, I don't think much was done to help me navigate and learn how to cope with this learning disability. Unfortunately, I would struggle in every subject and wouldn't push myself, and quite honestly, I tipped toed out of high school, allowing Dyslexia to be an excuse not to try—something I regret. There was potential there, and I wish I had known that I could do complex things such as writing.

Recognizing the wonder in writing.

It wouldn't be until I became a young adult and social media came about that I would post long notes and "what's on your mind" statuses nearly daily on Facebook as if I were making a journal entry. Over time, some friends mentioned that I should start a blog. I had no idea what I was doing, but I went ahead and gave blogging a try.

At first, writing was a bit of a challenge because I never attempted to write correctly and would allow myself to barf my thoughts all over the internet before editing what I so freely wrote. Going back and reading some of the earlier days of blogging, I cringe at the grammar and spelling but recognize the desire to be vulnerable and put myself out there, hoping it might give someone a smile or something to connect with. I found joy in the wonder of writing.

Effort.

For the last ten years, I have read more than I ever did in my youth. I returned to school, put much effort into the assignments, and excelled in my college courses. Except for math, we don't need to talk about that. However, the advanced English and intense writing courses were my favorite. I thrived and found that I have a passion for writing; it is therapeutic and my way of expressing myself, with some thoughts being shackled and anchored inside my head to coddle and protect the readers.

My perspective could provoke unwanted hard feelings.

Several things hold me back and hinder my ability to write freely. I feel that I must muffle my thoughts to avoid hurt feelings. I hold back because of the unintentional poking that some might feel when I communicate openly about my opinion and views on what color the sky is. The world is beyond fragile, and what would my close family and relatives think about what I was writing about?

While I try to be open-minded, I am opinionated and stand firm with my beliefs. I am not a debater and try hard to avoid contention, but plenty of people might disagree and be disappointed.

Imagine all the conversations avoided because of the worry of what others might think.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted others to know that they aren't alone, tangled up in struggles and trials that most won't talk about for the concern of being judged or misunderstood. Avoiding shame or guilt has some choking on the key of secrets. I know how this feels. That constant lump in your throat and emotions hanging by a thread as you want to open up, hoping that what you speak can be reciprocated with a possible commonality with one another. We are more alike than we would like to admit. However, we can all learn from one another despite our differences.

Pros and cons to being an open book. Is it worth it?

I don't care to share all of my skeletons in the cupboard, but to paint with bold colors within the lines of authenticity, creating a picture to share with others can be a positive thing.

And the people who know me will know my true intentions.

"I don't care how I am viewed, I KNOW ME." -unknown.

It's just another little hobby.