The beginning of this story isn’t much different from anyone else who blogs.
I’ve been writing since I was young. Maybe 10 or 11 years old. It started out as fanfiction, then just branched out to original stories. I wrote every single day for hours. Family gatherings or special events were no exception, either. I always found myself in a corner with my face in a notebook. If memory serves me, I was 16 when I stopped. I was going through a really deep depression and after so many years of discouraging remarks and looks from my mother on top of it, I had enough. I lit up the fireplace and burned all the notebooks I filled up over those years. I didn’t even look back, I was in such bad shape.
When I wasn’t writing stories, I was also writing in my diary. You may be tickled to know that my main intention of starting one in the first place was so that I could refer to it in my adulthood when I was a mother. I wanted to have a record I could use if I ever forgot what it was like to be a kid and teenager. I stopped that, too. Do you know why? Because my mother read it and was furious with what I had written about her. It just wasn’t ok for me to feel frustrated or angry towards her. It really wasn’t ok for me to express those feelings in the privacy of a leopard-pattern diary with stickers on it.
So by 16, my writing stopped. With the exception of schoolwork, I wasn’t writing at all. College certainly never allowed me the spare time to do it either.
I’m finding that by writing about such personal life experiences on this blog (as you can basically tell, I’ve started writing for myself again), I recall old times and start to make connections that help me realize myself. For example:
- I enjoyed doodling alot as a kid; I stopped for what I thought was going to be forever, and now I’ve picked up where I left off with my artwork.
- I enjoyed writing and the journey I took in finding my voice, only to silence it in my teenage years; now I’ve reignited that passion for the written word as well!
- In both these cases, I suffered more for stopping.
- In both these cases, I battle the shadows of my childhood that linger, telling me that I suck; that I shouldn’t be wasting time on these things that don’t pay the bills; that I will never get anywhere if I don’t listen to my mother…that I’m a disappointment to her and even my dad…
- I’ve clearly had a lifelong love and aptitude for both and realize now that I should have never allowed myself to stop.
In fact, I may be haunted by thoughts of what could have been for a long time. I could have really established myself as an authority in these fields earlier. I could have even won some sort of award or large-scale recognition. Some sort of validation and support would have gone a long way for me at such a young age.
Here comes my point (yeah, I took the long way round…you don’t like it, start your own blog!):
Don’t let anyone…anyone convince you that you’re no good. Don’t let anyone make you feel like your passion doesn’t matter. If you have been dealing with disparaging remarks from people, including your loved ones, you’re certainly not alone. Most importantly, know that they’re wrong. In fact, tell these naysayers to find dreams of their own to focus on instead of trying to stomp out yours!
Your passions can take you places you never thought existed, so don’t give up on them.
Write for the sake of writing. Do it every chance you get! It doesn’t matter what you write about! Nobody has to see it if you don’t want them to. Spite the jerks in your life with every line of poetry, every blog post, every short story! Do it…because you love it!