Since I was a young child, writing has always been my closest friend, the reliable partner I lean on when my mind is heavy. Worry, conflict, and disappointments fill my childhood diaries. I was never someone who wrote when they were happy. Writing is my way of working out the problems and confusion in my life. For a long time, I put writing away. Life was good, and my mind no longer spoke in verse on demand.

I was 33 when I returned to writing out of desperation. Things were so hard, and I was treading water. I was a stay at home mom with minimal adult interaction, and while I wanted to be there more than words could explain, it was not the right balance for me. My heart was in my throat, and I frequently felt on the edge of a scream. I had a lot of thoughts in my head that was driving me crazy, and they needed to be released. Once the words exploded out of me onto the page, I could breathe again. I could regain clarity for just a moment, long enough to find my way out of the quagmire. I kept journals everywhere, and through them, I processed my sense of self, my marriage, my children, my way forward. Every word felt like home, and writing saved me.

I recently returned to writing something other than planned pieces because the sadness has returned. This time is heavy, and I am once again struggling. And the words are returning with the tears. I hesitate to write this because my life is different. The world that views this page is more comprehensive, and my children now have lives of their own. But I feel it is essential, to tell the truth. People who become artists do so because they have something moody in their soul. If they were shiny and positive, with their face always to the sun, there would be no room for art in their life. Art comes out of the murky waters inside of a human. It comes from the ability to see into another’s pure aura and light and say, “I didn’t know someone else felt that way.” Art comes from feelings too large, too messy, and too bright to be safely kept inside. While it is a beautiful gift, it can be an incredibly heavy burden to handle.

I wish you all love, light, and the ability to tell those you love your truth. May truth be the bird that sets your soul flying.