Originally written at pagesxav
Like anyone who is passionate about what they do, I practice. A lot. For me, that means writing something every single day. Whether it’s a poem, a blog, a short story, or simply journaling about my day, I make it a priority to get some words out of my head and onto paper before I go to sleep.
Except for 2016.
I went almost an entire year without writing and it nearly killed me. (Well, not literally. But it killed my drive, my hopes, my dreams, my sense of purpose; that kinda thing. I felt dead.) For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out what killed my creativity. I was working a job I hated while my friends were starting their careers and traveling on the weekends and honestly, I was ashamed that I wasn’t doing the same. Because of that, I cut myself off from people and lost all motivation to do anything. I gained a bunch of weight, binge-watched random shit on Netflix, and cried a lot. I was scared of who I was becoming but more than that, I was afraid that the person I’d always wanted to be was out of reach.
I needed to change my mentality, so I got lost in books, unfollowed people who were crowding my timeline with bullshit and started researching self-care methods. Even though my confidence was at an all-time low, I knew that I needed to learn how to love myself if I ever wanted to get better. I started to carry my old journal and a pen with me everywhere I went “in case inspiration struck.” I went two whole months without ever cracking it open. I felt fake and it made me hate myself even more any time I looked at it so one day, just to feel somewhat productive, I drove to a coffee shop, left my phone in the car and sat down at a table with my latte, pen and journal. I flipped to a blank page and stared. I had so many thoughts running through my head but I had no clue where to start. I put the pen down and turned to the very first page and started reading. A lot of it was embarrassing, some stuff was hilarious and other parts were sad. Reading about my own life was therapeutic. It reminded me that I’d been through a lot and somehow always managed to make it through. Just as I was coming to the end of where the journal left off, I found a folded piece of paper tucked between the pages. It was a note to myself.
I want you to know that you are far stronger than you can imagine. You have gotten this far, so why give up now? Don’t. Things happen for a reason and people come and go. WRITE. It is what you were born to do. Tell your stories and never lose faith. Learn from your mistakes and embrace the experiences life throws at you. Stop trying so hard to control your life. Instead, live it. Do all of the things you’ve always wanted to do, go all of the places you’ve always wanted to go, and be who you want to be. This moment is yours for the taking. Leave the past in the past and look forward to the future. Continue to be true to yourself, remember to laugh, and DO NOT be afraid to love. Keep fighting. This is life.
It was dated June 3, 2013. Tears rolled down my cheek as I folded it up and put it back where I found it. Writing saved my life. My own words, that I had written years ago, gave me the strength to believe in myself again. Since then, I fully understand that when you know your purpose, you have to do everything with the intention of fulfilling it. Of course there will be times of doubt but no matter what, love yourself enough to believe that you are worthy of your dreams.
I share this story to inspire you, whoever you are reading this, to keep going.
Originally written at pagesxav