There was a time when writing felt natural to me…
something I never thought I would do again.
As a teenager, I wrote stories. Those stories surrounded me with love. They gave me a place to go when I needed it most.
Somewhere along the way…
that part of me disappeared.
Or at least,
it felt like it did.
And now…
something I never thought would happen
is happening.
My manuscript is being edited.
Even saying that
feels a little unreal.
What this feels like
is a mix of emotions…
Excitement…
the kind that comes
with finally letting go of the constant correcting
and passing it on.
But also fear.
A strong, quiet fear
that sits underneath it all.
What if it’s not any good?
What if he reads it
and can’t quite find the words
to tell me
that it won’t help anyone…
that it won’t give someone else
the strength to move forward
after a stroke.
I find myself waiting…
even though I was told it would take a month.
It’s only been two weeks,
but it feels longer.
But there are other feelings
that still sit quietly underneath all of this…
Sadness…
knowing I’ve lived through something
I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
And anger…
the kind that asks
why did this happen to me?
I tried to be healthy…
to take care of myself…
and somehow,
it still wasn’t enough.
And yet…
there’s another feeling there too.
Joy.
The kind that shows up
when I imagine holding it
a finished copy in my hands.
Something real.
Something I created.
Something I thought was gone forever.
I already know what I’ll do with it.
I’ll frame it.
Not because it’s perfect…
but because I did it.
However it comes to life
whether through a publisher
or simply through Amazon
it will exist.
And that matters.
There’s still anxiousness.
Will I be capable of speaking about it?
Will I be capable of standing in front of others
and sharing what this journey has been like?
Or will fear take over
and leave me frozen?
And then…
a quiet reminder.
Not loud…
just steady.
Capable…
of moving forward.
Committed…
to seeing this through
even if it’s just for me.
Confident…
in what I’ve lived
and what I understand.
Courageous…
enough to speak about things
that are not always easy to say.
Creative…
in finding ways
to help others see
what is possible.
This isn’t just about a manuscript.
It’s about something returning
that I thought I had lost.
A voice.
A way of expressing
what life feels like from the inside.
And maybe…
just maybe…
it will help someone else
feel a little less alone.
That experience reminded me that healing sometimes begins with one small decision to step back into life again. I wrote more about that feeling in The Day I Stopped Waiting.
