Someone once told me, I was “too deep.”
Someone else said, I was “too sensitive.”
Then I heard, I was “too fat, too skinny, too pale, and too emotional.”
What does that even mean anyway?
We are all different people, with a million thoughts going through our minds, different characteristics, and a plethora of emotions.
Don’t we have the right to cry without worrying what others will think?
It’s our God given right to think deeply, process our thoughts, in our own way, and on our own time.
Yet, somehow with all the positive comments, and compliments we hear on a daily basis, we manage to focus on that one negative voice. That insulting behavior, from someone so insignificant in our lives, that their opinion shouldn’t even matter.
But it does, doesn’t it? And soon we begin to feel that person must be right, and we must be awful.
You are special! You are unique!
You are the only “you” there will ever be!
How dare anyone discount the amazing person you are, and make you feel bad for your special qualities.
If you have read any of my posts, you understand my passion for writing, and may have come to the conclusion, that I battle with low self-esteem, and you would be right.
I will move mountains for those I love. I’m on it, any situation, any time, I’m there.
But when it comes to me, and my dreams, I get blocked, and I can’t seem to follow through.
I started to believe the: “you’re too________” lies.
It’s been months since I’ve written anything at all.
I could lie and tell you it’s because happy hubby and I both had unexpected surgeries, but the truth is, I think in the process of setting goals, taking courses, and learning the “business” of writing, I lost a part of me, and I began to forget why I love this medium, the potential it has to heal, and what it brings to me personally.
The publishing industry has changed a lot. Writers are building “tribes and platforms” to bring traffic to their blogs.
These platforms help them push sales for books they haven’t even written yet.
Strangers started following me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram sending me messages pitching their books to me. They didn’t care about anything I had to say, they wanted me for potential sales.
The pressure of building a tribe to read my book, “if” there was to be one, felt so fake.
I want people in my life who want to be there, not because I need them for sales.
Someone recently asked me:
“Are you writing for your audience, or for yourself?”
“Because if you’re writing for your audience, this is going to be really hard work, and you may get nowhere, but if you’re writing for yourself, you’re writing a journal.”
I wanted to sound like a professional so I said: “Of course I’m writing for my audience.”
But I left thinking, why can’t I write for my audience and myself?
Why can’t we both be happy?
This is writing. Writing is creative, personal and emotional.
Writing is sharing, bleeding on to the paper, letting strangers see into our hearts, and feel welcome there.
In some ways, writing is a ministry. When we write, we serve others.
Why can’t my focus be on my audience, and my own gentle heart?
I began to feel, that to be a writer, I needed to be someone I wasn’t.
I wasn’t following the “rules,” so soon I would be a publishers nightmare.
I know my voice, I know my heart, and I have a deep connection to my vision, and passion.
I didn’t want to change. It’s strange to say this, but I quite like myself.
I didn’t build this blog to sell books.
I built it, to recreate my life after cancer left me differently-abled, and scrambling to figure out what was next. I built it, when my baby went off to college, and I was left home crying because, let’s face it, empty nest kind of sucks sometimes. I built, it to find myself again, to rekindle my passion for writing, to feel a sense of accomplishment, and bring purpose to my life again.
It was my hope that IF anyone was gracious enough to read any of my stories, and felt inspired, loved, or even at peace afterwards, then how lucky was I?
This unexpected surgery scared me. This was not how I wanted to spend my summer, and it forced me to make big changes, and start taking care of my physical health. But the down time made me realize, I wasn’t taking care of my emotional health either.
It gave me time to process, and think deeply about who I am, what I want, where I’m going, and what my passions are.
God, Family, Writing, Health, Serving.
This is what makes my heart sing, without these things I am a shell of a person.
So I decided to change my blog, and create one that represents who I am, and what I love.
I want to continue the recreating me journey, sharing, growing, thinking deeply, and if that means I am the only one that reads it, and this becomes a “journal,” then it was meant to be, wasn’t it?
I will not be building a tribe, I will not be satisfying those who think I am “too much___,” because Gods opinion is the only one that matters to me. The negative chatter is no longer welcome.
I will be me. I am a perfect combination of all the wonderful ingredients God used to create the person he intended me to be.
The photo on this blog is of myself, and Happy Hubby recreating the final scene in the movie Notting Hill, in a park in Bath, England.
This movie is my favorite of all time, and the photo is special to me because of what it represents.
True love, contentment, peace and dreams fulfilled.
So this new blog is my Notting Hill.
A place to write about true love, to feel content that I’m being true to myself, a time for peace away from the busyness of life, and who knows, maybe one day, dreams fulfilled.
Because at the end of the day, I’m just a girl, sitting in front of a computer, hoping to inspire others with her words.