Construction of Creativity

Paving the Lines

I am my biggest critic. I will judge myself a million times in my head before anyone else gets the chance to. Today, I decided to take a look at my writings from five years ago.

I almost threw up in my mouth from embarrassment.

Shame flooded over me IMMEDIATELY.

Such poor grammar skills.

The horrible story lines.

The ugliest paragraph transitions.

The worst punctuation I have ever seen.

Did I mention the poor grammar? My goodness, I see why nobody would read my old work!

But, then I took a moment to really read those unedited, raw journal entries and fantasy stories. I spoke about losing my mother, and trying to cope with that loss. I had just found out I was having my first child, and so I wrote an article named ‘Don’t Panic! It’s Just A Baby’. I was in a relationship where I felt unseen, unloved, and dismissed. I wrote a short story named A Woman’s Scorn, focused on a woman getting her revenge on her lover (that was actually my most read story on this platform—I kept that one up for nostalgia).

Looking back at all of my horribly put together project pieces, I started to see the trails my prints began to form in through the mud. I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be heard. I wanted to know that I was not alone in what I was feeling or enduring. A coping mechanism for my pain. I was forming a path of creative freedom. I was paving the roads of Vulnerability Lane and Truth Avenue. And, now I have formed a map of purpose that I can see clearly.

Uncharted Territory

When I was writing those projects, I was angry. Deeply in pain. The anger came from not knowing how to name any emotion that came with anger. Most people just label one emotion and stamp it on your chest. Mine was anger. In reality, I was hurt, scared, and confused. I didn’t know where I belonged in the world as I transitioned from teen to adult, and being a new mother at such a young age. Speaking up would cause conflict, and I began to feel like a burden to those I opened up to.

I grew quiet.

I kept things to myself to avoid conflict.

I stopped expressing when things hurt me so that I would not seem weak or problematic.

Writing became my quiet rebellion. I could write all day without judgement. The paper didn’t yell at me. The ink didn’t make me feel bad for expressing myself. I could sit and write for hours, and hear nothing but the rhythm of my breath. In sync with the flow of my cursive handwriting.

I was quickly discouraged from writing once it was obvious I would rather deal with dead trees rather than living humans. I would walk through that pathway I built for myself and shut everyone else out. But, every time I chose silence I was forming another crossroad I would have to encounter later. Another uncharted part of myself, waiting to be found.

The Demolishment of the Old Jassy

My failing relationship was my biggest roadblock. It covered a crossroad I wanted open so badly. No tools could cut through the thick branches laying in the middle of the road. And, when I was told it was because of me, I believed them. I started working on myself.

I read self-reflecting books.

I journaled my inner wounds, problems, and triggers.

I took accountability.

I changed.

The problems didn’t.

I became so self-aware of myself that a gaslight hated to see me coming. Speaking for myself became more clear and easy to do. I could articulate how I felt without victimizing myself or pointing the blame finger. I got out of that horrible relationship. I snipped off those withering branches of friendships. I then realized that the roadblock I had been trying to demolish for so long didn’t even belong to me to begin with. It was a dead end.

I pivoted and found myself on a yellow brick road of empowerment that I have been walking ever since . I was afraid at first. I am alone, but I am also free. I now use that road to help guide others to their own path. I use my words, experiences, and life lessons as a navigator for others trying to find their voice. Rather than trying to find where I belong in other’s maps, I listened to myself and began drawing the lines for my own.

The New Construction Project

My map is now more clear than ever. I understand my purpose. I know my lane.

I am a woman gifted with her words. I am a woman who has endured the worst storms, and still have roses rising from my concrete. I’ve felt rage. I have carried the weight of pain and loss. I know what it feels to be angry. I have manifested those feelings and emotions into a powerful movement. I still believe in love, true friendships, and happily ever afters. I will just never be sold the illusion of it anymore.

I will never be silent to keep others around.

I will never shrink to make others feel bigger.

I will never accept pain hoping to gain love in return.

My map is nowhere near finished, but now I know who’s truly supposed to be holding the pen. Deep construction work is happening right now, and I am excited for the new floor plans. I used to write to escape myself and the reality I was living. Now, I use that pen to transform my future. I write to connect with those who are just like me.