And This is the Reason That I Write --- To Know That I Exist

Hi everyone! First of all, thank you, thank you, thank you, for filling out the surveys, signing up for the e-mails, and commenting. It is really nice to see some new faces here on the blog. I appreciate each and every one of you. I know that is Thanksgiving for our neighbours to the South, so Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends. 

Also, in case you missed it, we are in the midst of a giveaway right now. Check it out here, if you haven't done so yet! 

Today, I would like to talk about why I write. If you are a writer, this is for you. If you draw, craft, or sing, this is for you, too. Writing is about expression. We all express ourselves in different ways. 

This post is about why I write and I get pretty honest. Cause sometimes I gotta get real. So here goes! 

Photo from Ncgrahpics, via MorgueFile

My first writing was in a diary. I wrote in that diary because it was the only place where I had  privacy, from a home where a wrong move could mean a night of shouting, and incrimination. A home where a Mother I loved endured yelling and sometimes blows, and I cowered in fear, waiting for the time when I would be able to help her escape her abuser. She did escape for a while. But she always went back. 

I wrote because I was determined to have a voice, even though I felt that it was not allowed. I was determined that I would not be crushed. Writing was survival. It kept me from going crazy, allowed me a place where no one could make fun of me, and acted in the place of a therapist for this suicidal teenager. 

And why do I write now ... I am no longer suicidal. I no longer hear shouts coming from the bedroom down the hall. I have forgiven. Why do I write? I write because I must. I must have a place on the paper that is separate from the world around me. Writing is the only way I know to see reality, to touch reality. To connect me to the world. 

I write because I need to be real. 

I am not just a woman who lives in a house, who has a job, who drives a truck. I am still that little girl who wrote in that diary. I am still that young woman trying to find her way in the world. I am still a soul, not just a worker. I still need to write, to survive. To keep that part of me quiet that feels like it will die and become invisible. 

So, I continue to write. I have to. Even if no one else reads it. Even it is only in a journal. Because I have to keep that part of me alive. When I don't write, I feel like I don't really exist, not the real me. 

If you are a writer, I encourage you to write. . If you are an artist, paint. If you are a cowgirl, ride your horses. Do what you love, so you will know that you exist. Doing what we love, even when we feel old or washed up, or done, requires hope and faith. But do it anyways, so you will know that you exist. That you are alive. Not just a mother, or student, or a employee. 

I write because I need to have a voice. A way of expressing who I am. What is the thing in your life, that gives you your voice? Are you doing it?

Love Sharilee. If you like what you are reading, sign up for regular updates with Blogger or through my Facebook page. or to receive posts by e-mail, join here