What writing has given me recently

The new year is around the corner! It’s time for the annual spiral about my hopes and dreams.

Biggest barrier is wanting to protect my heart while it’s inching its way out of my chest. I also worry: in the end, will the reveal fall flat?

What am I even saying these days?

Gosh, it’s so embarrassing to be a writer. I’m still at this thing after two decades and some change. Still lurking behind internet searches of “how to get agent” and “publications that pay decent.”

Of course I look up residences when I really want to delude myself. There comes a time when the list of performances and publications grows, but something is still missing. Putting my writing in front of a panel might not solve that problem. It’d make me feel like I’m still moving forward though. Sigh. I know.

I don’t mean to sound down. Writing is embarrassing but I’m in it for the long haul. There are days when I spend hours crafting and deleting and repeating until my eyes start to bleed. And I’d be lying if that I said those moments don’t feel good.

I’m trying to say that I’ve made the sacrifices. There’s lost sleep that I won’t get back. (It’s a wonder how my brain is still going after years of two-am writing sessions followed by midnight feeds during early parenthood.)

Sometimes we have to take breaks. This is not one of those times for me; however, I’ve been there.

If you look at my online archive, there’s almost a three-year gap where I didn’t send a newsletter, write a blog post, or perform a new live piece. Work stress took every ounce of imagination and creativity that I had during that time. I hid behind the chaos of parenthood and the pandemic until the mental cracks started to show up in my daily life.

I didn’t know how to show up as myself.

Going back to therapy helped me start the process of bringing creativity into parenthood, leading to the start of DIY birthdays and art-focused preschool lessons. During free weekends, I directed my focus to writing projects instead of fantasizing about weekend getaways to decompress from the job I couldn’t get time away from.

There was still a creative and emotional block compounded by grief. My brain did not feel safe and there was no hiding behind board reports and meeting agendas.

My last day in non-profit leadership was on December 31, 2023. Leaving felt terrifying but I knew I couldn’t stay. The following year came with unexpected personal challenges that dimmed my expectations for personal projects. I was in survival mode and wasn’t sure how to get out.

I kept writing drafts even when I didn’t send the emails. The book proposal remains unfinished as the project has changed a dozen times. But I kept writing and researching and digging. At some point, I turned words into portals inspired by collages and photos I made. Putting paint on my fingers and chasing plot lines brought me back.

My dad died on Thanksgiving 2024 as I was settling into the next chapter of my career. He was the biggest champion of my curiosity and creativity. We spent most Sunday mornings of my childhood going through the newspaper. I mostly focused on the comics and watched how he reacted to reading news headlines. He gave me hot chocolate or juice while he drank sugary coffee. After I turned 12 years old, he poured his coffee into two cups to share with me while we traded sections of the newspaper.

When I shared the news of resigning from my job, he asked if that meant that I would focus on writing projects. It had been awhile since he saw my name in the community newspaper—was I going to make space to write again? He raised me to know self-expression is more than speaking.

I was tasked with writing my dad’s obituary and editing the slideshow, filling it with family photos and portraits I’d taken over the years. It was challenging but renewed my drive to write the stories that have gone unacknowledged for decades.

Even in the midst of grief, my brain finally feels the safest it has been in years. Saved by writing once again.

Writing is embarrassing and I should hate it as an anxious person. But really, I often think, “Well, if I can write this, what else can I do?” Then I keep writing and keep pushing through.

That’s my goal for 2026. Write, push, repeat.

It’s not embarrassing to be a writer when I know what’s going to save me every time.