My Passion, My Power

I’ll never forget my seventh-grade English teacher’s words: “You write so well, you have a way with words.” She said, handing back another writing assignment with a big A across the top. I followed her around the classroom with my eyes as she returned the papers to other students. She met my eyes from across the room and smiled proudly. I smiled back and looked down at my paper. At that moment I knew I found my passion. My love for deep thinking and inspiring others can come together and this was a safe form of expression for someone shy like me.

I leaned on writing throughout my teenage years. I’ve been complimented for my perception and style. It got me through some of my darkest times and it helped me understand the world around me. I took notes of inspiration and I dissected taboos about myself and others, getting real about some of the toughest questions I had about life, never really sharing outside a select few. 

Adulthood consumed me. Marriage, children, and the day-to-day pressures of life. I lost touch with this passion. As the years passed and the stress grew I found myself turning back to writing as an outlet and I held onto my journals for this to me was art. I’ve shared my stories again with a select few who were inspired.

As I delved deeper into it, peeling back the layers brought forth some hard truths. I needed a divorce. This marriage was toxic and not what it seemed. Divorce is hard, especially when there are kids involved. I’ve tried to save the marriage but ultimately divorce was inevitable.

He bargained, he cried, and threatened to prove me crazy. He stole my writing and humiliated me with them. I felt violated but mostly afraid that his manipulation would continue to work and I would lose my children and my children were my everything. I faced my fears, and took a leap of faith, and hired an attorney because I couldn’t continue this way.

I sat in the courtroom, looking at the same man who betrayed me, watching him try and use my writing against me, hoping to prove me an unfit mother. How Ironic it was that I would fear the passion I once had because the man I once loved threatened to shatter my chance to gain custody of my kids. 

I got custody, no questions asked and when the judge dismissed any writings saying it was irrelevant and inappropriate and should be returned to me immediately, I felt relieved and confident to pursue the divorce. We tried to enforce the return of the journals. The judge knows he has it but couldn’t do anything except roll her eyes. But I can do something, I can start writing again. I am overcoming this, I refuse to stay afraid or ashamed. 

Putting pen to paper is like magic, magic I want to share with the world. It leaves little morsels of hope in between the lines that keep me going and it builds me up when life knocks me down. Everyone should do what they have to do to keep going and I now see I have to write.

Life is unjust and boy do I feel it now but instead of rehashing old wounds it just ignites me to write about what I am going through and where I am going. There are ups and downs and in-betweens but I am on my way. Not every story has a clear happy ending. Sometimes you need to work hard to create one and that’s what I am determined to do despite everything that I am facing.

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