Within a few months, everything I knew disappeared.
I left the job I loved, started the crazy life of being a stay at home mom, and moved somewhere new. The person I knew, eventually, slipped away. I found myself lost, trying to figure out how to balance giving myself to everyone else’s needs, but none to my own. Other than my mother, kids, or husband, I had no outside communication. The few friends I had were as lost to me as I was to myself, and, though, I was surrounded by love…
I felt alone.
Bitterness crept into my heart… I hated the person I’d become. That somehow what I did every day for my family was not enough and as a mother, I had failed. I hid my sadness from those close, and only two people knew what I was experiencing: my mom and my husband. My husband tried to help, tried to encourage me to meet other mom’s, but I resisted. I grieved the loss my friends, my neighbors, my church, and my career.
So, I distracted myself by working out hard, to rid myself of my sour attitude. I got in great shape, set goals, but wasn’t satisfied. Something inside of me needed to be pleased.
I needed to create.
Creativity has always flowed through my veins. I was trained in the fine arts, but I stopped after becoming a SAHM. My days were spent exercising, taking care of my family, reading, and rearranging furniture to subdue my need to create. That somehow these small tasks could kill the beast lurking in the depths of my soul.
And then one day it wasn’t enough, and I wrote the first three pages of a story. In the span of a few days, I became obsessed and wrote every chance possible. It changed me, drawing the unhappiness from my heart, and my husband saw joy seep back into my life.
Finally, I found the creative girl that oozed inspiration with everything she tried.
During this time, few knew that I wrote because I didn’t speak about it. I was afraid of what others would think… say, but, as time passed, my simple story transformed. I pushed to refine my skill, disregarding when others told me to stop, scared, that I would ruin my hard work.
But what they didn’t understand was that I tapped into something I never knew existed. The ability to express with words rather than art. My husband encouraged me to follow my instincts with my writing, and I’m grateful for his support. How he dealt with my funky ways, my bad attitude, and spurts of depression.
I made mistakes through my yearlong process of writing. I queried too soon resulting in at least twenty rejections, but that didn’t stop me…
I’m a persistent bugger.
I pushed to find out why and signed up for a boot camp course through Writer’s Digest, where I made the greatest leap in my quest. I took a chance and joined a group of writer’s embarking on the same journey.
I surrounded myself with others whose skills outmatched my own and that pushed me to try harder. I received critiques that sucked, but showed where I couldn’t strengthen my talent.
I creatively found myself again.
Despite the fact my group spreads across the states, we stay in touch, and support each other. We critique, beta read, or post silly writer jokes to have fun. It’s weird and great to have found a group of people I’ve never met, but consider my friends.
I was blessed to find these people, to discover a new creative direction, and to have my family support my new endeavor. It took a long time to sort out my frustrations, and, some days, I didn’t know the answer. Today, I know, I found the woman that was lost, the creative soul that fought to breath. How do I know this?
Because I don’t question who I am, how good of a wife, or mother I am. I can see the happiness in my family because I discovered the happiness in my own life.