I can’t write and molly coddle any more… I just can’t


I open my mind and the feelings pour onto the page. I cannot stop my flow of thought any more than I can stop the wind or the rain.

I am tired, so very tired, of trying to censor my thoughts. I am completely done with hand holding and molly coddling because someone may “think” the wrong thing about what I am writing.

10 minutes, 10 days or ten years you may have known me but you do not know what I really mean from these thoughts. They are only what you perceive them to be. I could be exuberant of I could be cutting it all depends on what I am feeling and how it comes out from me.

You and yOu and yoU and YOU… all think that I speak of You. Yet it isn’t You, but yOu. Or is it yoU? Maybe YOU?

For me all that matters is being able to try and articulate my perceptions, thoughts and feelings.

It is a cleansing, a spewing, an emptying if you will. It is what I do and how I do it. I may try to bring you into my mind or I may leave it up for your interpretation. I may not even being saying anything more than random utter nonsense.

I may be writing for another, expressing their pain through my writing because they cannot and know I would never betray my confidences but yet their pain becomes my pain. Therefore I can only chose to get it out the best way I know how before it eats at my soul and takes root in the seeds of depression that have come of their cleansing.

For that is a part of who I am and how I tick, the taking on of the emotions and feelings of others. It is another layer of me. I can turn it down but I can never turn it off. I am not sure that I want to though at times I have thought about it. I was able to stop the dreams for a time, but I realized that a part of me was under nourished and withering by trying to suppress something that is in me, has always and will always be a part of me. Even if I don’t want it to be it is there. By denying it, I was denying my soul the nourishment from that source and making my mind more miserable. Slowly I let myself dream. I learned from myself and am still healing.

We do things to help others and are our own worst enemies because we don’t give ourselves the basic components of what we need to be us. We give our money, our time, our very selves to others yet we don’t take enough time to do some very basic things for ourselves, whatever that may be.

My choice to write a public blog and put it out there: to be loved, hated, criticized or ignored was a growth within me from years of cultivation of life experience of mine and others. For me it took a huge amount of faith in myself to believe I could do it. And I have done it and continue to do so.

As I slide towards the one year mark of blogging, I am learning more and more what I need to do as a blogger and a writer.

I need to stop worrying and molly coddling and hand holding and “what if” second guessing myself and what I write. Only then will I be able to be the best writer I can be. It isn’t just blogging, but in all aspects of my writing and my very existence.

So all of the you’s worrying, just stop. It isn’t worth it.

I’m working on me and healing my soul and sharing my thoughts, feelings, rants, poems, goofiness and sometimes even useful information.

Fabulous Gracelessness, Lady Maos, Crazy Mama that I am, I am still only human. I still have flaws. They are just a bit fabulous though.

I don’t plan to stop any time soon.

Keep Hope Alive!

 

I write, I write


I write, I write it’s what I do

I write, I write it may not be for you

I write, I write I cannot stop

I write, I write until I drop

I write, I write I share thoughts of mine

I write, I write to share with human kind

I write, I write now all the world can see

I write, I write I am bit crazy

I write…


I have been writing since I was 3. I was around 5 when I started writing in journals, so for about 40 years I have been writing down my feelings. Even when my feelings consisted of getting Barbie’s dream house and flying a rocket ship while being a veterinarian. What?! I had big dreams. I may not have gotten the Barbie dream home, rocket ship or become a vet, however, I have never stopped writing. I have written some pretty crazy things… short stories, love notes, articles, poems, letters, papers. I still have journals from when I was a child.

People ask me what I was thinking about or if I was talking about so & so. Sometimes I have a specific subject in mind but other times I pull from so many sources – mine, friends, family and those that I have heard or read about.

Since starting my blog it has proven to be a challenge to write daily. Add to it when I write on a personal level or say something and some people thinks it’s about them, someone else or that something is “wrong”.

It can get quite irritating to get the “I know this was about me” or “Why would you write about that? It’s too personal.”

I write so much from my soul. I can write about almost anything. I can’t Not write. Now that I have my blog it gives me an avenue to let it out. Sometimes I think if I don’t get it out, then I will blow up or lose my mind even further!

There are times I feel that no matter what I write, I will get some sort of negative feedback. I am realizing I can’t please everyone. I can’t even come close to trying. This, I am learning, is where I stop apologizing and keep writing how I feel.

For the most part, I write after I hear, experience, or learn about things. Sometimes, though, I write during an experience to get through it. I may use it in my blogs. I do have pieces that may or may not get posted and others that I wrote to keep my sanity. Those pieces may never be read by anyone but I had to write them in order to get past something or get my feelings out.

I have been asked why I don’t just publish or post certain pieces. Just because I write and have a blog doesn’t mean I share every part of who I am and every thought that goes through my head. Honestly I think I would be committed if every thought, every word I wrote was put out there to be read and scrutinized and picked apart. I could use a few days at a spa, one with padded cells in not what I am going for!

Everyone has their own way of dealing with things and mine happens to be writing. Just because I put it in my journal doesn’t mean I wrote it for everyone. My journals are mine. They are private. Everyone who knows me knows that. It isn’t for anyone but me. I get so much out of going back and re-reading how I was thinking or feeling in my life. It’s like I downloaded my thoughts and emotions and I can go back and remember exactly how I felt. I may share a part of it, but for anyone to go open my journal and read it would be like me walking into someone’s home and going through their things without permission. I have seriously flipped on the 2 occasions it’s happened in my life.

Even the boy knows those are off limits. It wasn’t even something he went back to and asked again. I told him once, “No, those are mommy’s and you are welcome to have your own journal or diary to write your feelings in. I promise I won’t read it.” Of course he’s 5 and he shows me every little thing so it isn’t private for him. Oh if only it would stay that way! But he has not yet asked again if he could look at them or write in them.

I guess I write because it’s such a part of me. I write because I feel compelled to do so. I write to share, entertain and try to keep a bit of myself sane.

I write and I keep hope alive. Always.