When I 1st  started writing all that would surface was the sad times, the hardships and of course the horrible things I endured in my life. I followed my instinct and continued to write because something deep in me told me this was the way, that this is what I have to write about. I didn’t think that it had to be shared or that I had to show anyone. The inner voice told me just write. Days turned to weeks and those weeks turned into months and I was still writing about the trials and tribulations, the betrayal and of course the pain in my life. Still through it all I continued to write.

It wasn’t till I took my 1st  workshop (Writing Our Lives) with Vanessa Martir that I understood the purge. That this inner voice had to release and boy did it ever!!! Not once did I look at it as a bad thing. I knew I had many great moments in my life as well it just wasn’t the time to write it about it.

Now as a ferocious writer in personal essay and memoir I realize that it’s the hardships that entangles us and bond us. It is the familiarity of grief and pain that binds the writer and reader in an intimate relationship. That this inner voice expresses itself to allow others that have yet to find their voice be able to read these essays and allow their own identification and healing to begin.

It’s not easy! By any means is it ever finished either. I go back and other memories flood in and add to the rest of the story. There are days that I can sit for hours and just fly other times a paragraph is all my heart allows. One thing I know is I don’t stop. I discover more of myself whenever I write sincerely and honestly. It allows me to love me more. I look back and in reading I see my strength and my faults. It allows me not to carry this weight that can hurt me in all areas of my being. It lets the pen become mightier than the sword. It helps the memory become your friend not your enemy. You build a sense of trust deeper with yourself.

I write because I love it. It gives me something that only I can give myself. In turn I hope that it lets readers know that they can survive it. That they aren’t the only ones that have gone through these atrocities. That you can survive all these things and still be a beautiful person. Shit, writing help me see the beauty in me. Hearing and reading someone who is telling your story enables you to know that you have a voice whether silent or loud. So yeah, it’s not just about the grief.



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