When I was a little girl, I loved books. I loved reading - I would stay up until I finished a book, reading by torchlight under my doona because I was so engrossed in a story.
I also loved writing and making books. I would fold together A4 pages and staple them at the fold. I would write fiction stories and research books on stories.
Books were such a big part of my world.
They still are.
A big part of my young heart wanted to grow up and become a writer. To hold books of my own creation in my hands. Hard covers with stunning pictures. Sentences so beautiful, so poignant they made you stare at a wall and think them over again.
Somewhere between 8 years old and 17 years old I lost that dream.
As far as I can remember it was highschool. Because English class took the fun out of writing. It was always an official document. We didn’t get much time to write stories, or use our imagination. They were ‘how to’ articles or reviews of novels we had read. Not a whole lot of fun.
Or perhaps somewhere along the line I had a story implanted in my mind that writers don’t make money.
Either way, writing and becoming a writer was something I so revered, respected and admired - it felt so far away from little old me.
Pair this with a very shaky sense of self, people pleasing, seeking external validation… you can see that being vulnerable enough to write - or to even try was something I could not do.
So while I was on a long journey to answer the question ‘what do I want to be when I grow up?’. I kept coming back to writing and yet was unable to write.
At 17 I committed to journaling.
At 23 I recommited to journaling and left my Law school for a Communications degree.
At 29 I recommitted to journaling and again and found myself speaking poetry at open mics around town. My friend suggested I start sharing journaling workshops.
At 32 I’m recommitting to writing again - let’s see where it takes me this time.
I’m wondering what dream YOU put so high on a shelf that you don’t dare touch it. Or that you dance around it?
I’m wondering what your soul keeps drawing you to, pulling you towards that you keep pushing back because..
“I couldn’t possibly”
“I’m not that kind of person.”
“What would other people think?”
“What would my parents say?”
“Oh, I’m too XYZ to do something like that.”
“I’m not XYZ enough to do that.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“I don’t know how.”
I wonder how you are putting yourself out of connection with that deeper part of yourself?
I wonder if your 6 year old self would be proud of you? Or if she would urge you to… do something to express a part of yourself you have kept hidden for too long?
How can you access that dream?
That six year old version of you?
If you wanted to dance - could you turn some music on and dance in your loungeroom?
If you wanted to teach - could you share your knowledge with someone?
If you wanted to be an astronaut - could you learn something new about space?
Sometimes when we think about ‘purpose’ it doesn’t mean that our life and soul purpose is to be a writer for example, but that purpose calls forth MORE OF WHO WE TRULY ARE.
Did you notice that every time I recommitted to writing, something new and beautiful came into my life? Because I was attached to soul. I was following my heart.
What will happen when you recommit to yourself? Let that expression out?
I’d love to hear what dream you have put aside and how you will access it and bring it into your current reality. PM me and let me know what it is. X
Here's a photo of me and my brother circa 1992. I'd lost both my front teeth. My grandma sent me that tshirt dress for my birthday. I adored it's tassles.