“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”
― Anne Frank.
Ola mi amigos!
Today I have a story. A story that will be followed up with an epiphany I just had right now,as I’m battling a backache and no! Not from old age,but my crappy office chair and my generally bad back. I digress. Let’s get down to business.
My love for writing wasn’t something I was always aware of. Well, at the back of my mind I knew I liked to write on my mothers walls, in the house and re-writing paragraphs from my father’s office magazines. I thought it was just me, doing what kids do. I didn’t realize it was a budding passion. Come to think of it, that might be why I have an amazing handwriting. Totally not being vain. True story!
I always kept a diary as a teenager. Even if it was a modified exercise book, filled with glitters and a cut out of my latest boy band crush, from shout magazine. Growing up, I barely spoke and spent most of my time crippled by social anxiety. Saying two words alone, to a stranger, required a whole rehearsal in my head and a losing battle to desperately trying to stop my body from shaking like a leaf on a rainy day. I could never read out loud in class. It was terrible! The worst thing was, it got worse when I experienced depression. Being around people who expected me to talk or socialize with them, made me a constant mess! No matter how much I tried to mask it, You could always hear the distant tremor in my voice and catch a glimpse of the tremble on the hem of my skirt. So my journal, my journal was everything. It held every thought that I failed to express verbally and that meant the world to me.
As a child, I was constantly writing on something, with literally anything that I could possibly scribble with; charcoal, candle sticks and yes, the much dreaded (probably by every mum with a young child) permanent marker pen, that got my ass whooped, for ruining my mother’s possessions. I always joke with my mum about a post I once saw, that stated, “every great blogger started out writing on the walls of their parent’s home”. Despite the vast writing experience, I had never thought of writing my own thoughts down. I’d just write from a book or a magazine I had picked from my parent’s library. As much as I had an array of thoughts! (been an over thinker since way back when, fam!) It always scared me that someone would find the write up and know what I was thinking. My thoughts were my big secret. I had the impression that for some reason this was punishable,because my low self esteem couldn’t allow me to believe that being real and honest was okay. That’s why nowadays I freely speak about what I’m feeling, with no fear, because I understand what it is to have had an able mouth and thoughts and not be able to express yourself . Dark times!
If it wasn’t for my friend and church mate, David, I would have never really ventured into writing because I just didn’t see myself as a writer. The day he asked me if I could write, because he wanted me to join him and his artsy friend in starting a magazine, I was at a stage where I was looking for something new to do with my life, so I said “why not? I’ve written a journal before, this can’t be hard”…Not knowing that it would be the beginning of my journey with what has come to be my greatest love. A love that I have always had, but never really took the time to appreciate.
I feel like that’s the story of my life. Always trying to take a giant leap when my life’s answers lay just within. The things I’ve struggled to hide or disregard, what if they’re the things that really make up who I am? What if ignoring them is what brings me great distress?
I remember the journal I kept when I was thirteen. I burnt it to ashes because I was going to a boarding school and I was so terrified of someone finding it and reading my thoughts. Of exposing myself. I had to destroy it. Till today I ask myself what if I wasn’t afraid. What if I kept it. Maybe I’d get a glimpse of 13 year old Gracey’s thoughts. Maybe I would have learnt a thing or two from my teenage life that would come in handy in my adult life,or even just entertain myself, you know? But I destroyed that part of me because I was afraid. Fear, I’m pretty sure that’s the one thing that deters us from making great achievements.
I am at a very distressful point in my life. Kumbe this quarter life crisis was not a rumor. But the one thing I keep asking myself is what am I afraid of? What if once again, what I’m searching for is right in front of me but I keep shoving it aside, like I did my writing? What if it’s something I think I can’t do? Like how I didn’t see myself as a writer just because, for some reason, I thought you had to start out as a big shot writer and not some part time blogger with a bad back and history of mental illness. Maybe if I look into myself once more, be honest and real with myself; just like I finally got the voice to write about my fight with depression, I might once again discover a treasure that was right in front of me the entire time. But what am I afraid of? Maybe if I can answer that, I can figure out my next move. Don’t you think?
With love and light,