Why I write, well it is indeed cheaper than therapy.
I first began writing, for myself, as a teen when life seemed impossibly hard and the spoken word just didn’t seem enough to express everything I feeling. Shame, remorse and regret were just some of the things I needed to express, but privately. So I took to writing journals, snap shots before Instagram and Twitter, a few stunted words or flowing pages of ramblings, both provided a calm in the storm that was me.
Eventually I found that I no longer needed to write, life ebbed and flowed in a way that I no felt the need to write things down in order to process them.
But then parenthood happened and life began to stumble, hurdles were insurmountable and I needed some way to process what was quickly becoming something I couldn’t control.
I may not the most eloquent, passionate or even the most constructive of writers but I find a peace and solace in writing that I’ve never found, nor been comfortable with, when speaking.
At the end of the day, whether it’s published or not, read by another or tucked away in a journal somewhere; I write for me.