I have always had this craving for words. I sat at my desk today, on the short 30 minute lunch that I am trying to force myself to take each day, and pulled out this book that I keep with me always. It is just a small book with blank pages, nothing fancy. I have had so many over the years, but when I look at it I find myself traveling back through time. It is such a visual representation of my state of mind, my feelings, my struggles…all there –splayed across pages and pages were poems, thoughts, chapter notes, inspirational quotes — anything that spoke to me really. I remembered being on the subway running to Port Authority and writing against the door of a cramped train because there was just so much inside me that it could not wait for me to have a seat and a desk to write at. I think about how much my life has changed and the fact that I have to enforce time for writing in the midst of “adult” life. I have to literally set aside time each day and I can’t help but wonder… is that okay?
I have struggled with devoting time to self-care. It is surely a requirement for my wellness and ability to continue doing my job, but still I struggle on a daily basis to allow myself the time to do the things that bring me joy. Writing is not just my self-care, it is my passion. I watched today’s challenge video with my fiancé as we readied ourselves for work and she made me say out loud that “I am a writer.” She made sure to also add “I am a talented writer” and made me repeat this with her several times. I take time to acknowledge that simple act of support and love because so often I manage to forget that this is not simply a self-care tool. Writing is what I love to do – I wish, so so deeply, that it could be my full-time job. Every day I regret getting lost in the hustle of my day and not writing when I have the urge. Here and now I am acknowledging that it just cannot keep happening. It cannot allow it, for the most simple and plain fact that, I AM A WRITER.
There are times where my 10-11 hour work days leave me feeling exhausted and fatigued; unable to scroll out even a line – but I can change this. I have hope. I know that with dedication and support I can bring myself back to the days of impromptu writing on walls and subway doors or any surface available. I am writing this quickly (to get in the 10 minutes), but I know I will continue it soon. I will allow myself the space and time to grow in this way.
I know this may be a ramble. I know it may seem like I have written this a billion times over. I know that it will not happen overnight, but I also know, most ardently, that it will happen, because I AM A WRITER.