Insecurity conquered one word at a time....right?

 Here I am 14 years after my first blog post with only one sentence of a second post filling the entire library I have created since that time. Ouch. I have considered myself a writer most of my life. As a kid I co-wrote a book called "lost in space" with my friend Andrea Gibbons. she would walk home from school with me everyday and we would act out the story on our way of a family that was lost in space and....well I think that was mostly the gist of the story but they went through a lot everyday and the story filled at least half a journal that I got from my grandma that was covered in colorful balloons or something on the cover. As a teen and young adult I journaled and wrote letters and loved to practice creative writing with a few of my best friends. But since growing up after an attempt in my 20's to write my first novel, picking the project up and putting it down a dozen times over five years or so. When I had been married for about eight years my husband opened and read some journals while I was out of town. A lot of what I wrote during that time was to get out the hard stuff from the darkest thoughts on the darkest days from the saddest and loneliest places. Between having four babies and life looking less and less like what I had thought it would be as a child I experienced some incredible depression. They expressed loneliness, dissatisfaction, the truths that I thought marriage would look and feel different. For writing those words I was punished with threats of divorce, years of him coming to me with the words he had read that came out of me that hurt him so bad demanding an explanation and then again demanding divorce and me like a woman taken in adultery I would weep apologizing over and over begging for his forgiveness and then calm between storms. I have never written my feelings in a journal again for these eight years and since that time its all come to a few Facebook post and the odd school assignment or a talk in church that got me writing, but just a little, just enough to remind me how much I love it!  And then just as soon as the feeling fills my heart it is followed with a crashing, crushing, wave of doubt and insecurity that drowns the words, the dreams, the works and smashes them into grains of sand that could have been mountains.

I am preparing to enter nursing school in the next year and I feel a heavy sad weight that my dreams of writing for real are slipping away. Where will I ever find time during school or when I start working to dedicate to the stories and the books and words sitting inside my mind that come to me at night and tell me their details or introduce me to their characters? They are like restless prisoners, sometimes pounding at my soul to let them free and sometimes just sitting there looking at the clock waiting for death but trapped all the same, never leaving, always there. And I am sad for them.   

and so I have decided that it is time to kill the insecurity and the hesitation, face the trauma here in a blog, when blogging is so past dead and with myself as my only audience I am here to kill it one word, one thought, one entry at a time. The books, the stories, they will eventually have to find some escape or death, but for now a place for the thoughts to spill out along the busy way while I figure out how to write, and I am still too scared to let the big stuff out. Thoughts, my endless stream of deep thought. This is where I have wanted to be as long as I can remember, in my words on the page.