Self help. Improving me. My closet shelves are lined with books and 98% involve working out all the bugs that lead me down the path to depression, anger, and isolation.
It’s quite amusing if you think about it. I get so caught up on all this self improvement that I fail to take time for self care. Reading for fun and simply slowing down and enjoying life. It’s partly why I finally stepped up to the challenge of writing this.
I pretend that this blog will be discovered, that I write for others, but mostly I write for myself. A creative outlet so I can finally grow to really know me.
It’s funny how that works. To get to know the real me I had to get back to the basics. I say that because when I was a child I always pictured myself as a writer. Funnily enough, I really wanted to create greeting cards. I would make my own birthday cards for everyone and on the back I would call them “Amieemark” (instead of Hallmark). Okay, so I wasn’t that original.
In high school I was introduced to poetry. Oh, for a teen in angst it was such a wonderful outlet! I remember getting in an argument with one of my sisters and slamming through the house to my room… I wrote a poem about “Closing Doors”, which was my way of crying out about the pain of missed opportunities and wanting attention. I dramatically stomped back into the kitchen and proclaimed my masterpiece to the family and asked my sister if she had ANY clue what the poem meant.
She said, “you wrote a poem about throwing a fit and slamming doors because you didn’t get your way?” Oh, she had no use for my creativity! She missed the point completely (yet in reality she got it exactly right!).
I had a problem with honesty. I didn’t know it. I just couldn’t see situations for how they truly were. Sometimes I still suffer from that. And that’s where the work comes in. For that I am grateful. I have so many outlets. My friends, writing, and my relationship with God. I’m learning to trust. I’m learning to uncover my joy. I’m blessed.