Writing and Moving Forward

Like stones, words are laborious and unforgiving, and the fitting of them together, like the fitting of stones, demands great patience and strength of purpose and particular skill.   -Edmund Morrison

I had an epiphany a while back. It happened much like it happens in the movies and I awoke in the middle of the night with a jolt. Feeling like I had been hit with a 2X4, I shuffled into the living room and for the first time I felt free. I was able to breathe. I took a deep breath. And then another one. And with clarity, I began to write. To write. To put words on a page with the same ease that I did back when I was a pre-teen, filling pages of hard-covered journals and spiral notebooks. My hand ached from the unfamiliar stress of holding a pen and still, I wrote.

I am a writer at heart. It has fueled me for as long as I can remember. In the stories I told to friends and family, to the persona I invented to hide truths that I was unwilling to share. I am a writer. And for years I was a writer without words. Without stories. Without purpose. I searched for the words as I wrote over at the now defunct, Mom on the Rise. I created blogs on top of blogs and yet they remained bare. I hid behind the scenes, encouraging others to write despite the difficulty I faced when tying to find the words.

But then, the other night, that all ended. I wrote. I wrote through the writer’s block. I  And you know what, there was a spark. Something in me came alive. I came alive.

And so, I write. This is a revival. I move forward.