Half Written Stories

A dozen journals litter the surrounding bookshelves, each with only a few pages tattooed with my thoughts. Where I have tried to capture my imagination in swirls of text that always seem to end with unfinished thoughts and dreams. Each page meant to be a fresh start, a new story, ended up being an obstacle to overcome.

At first, I thought it was the medium - perhaps physically writing in my notebooks and journals was not the organization I needed. Maybe I needed it typed and saved and organized into folders.

This too did not work.

It wasn’t the pencil, the paper, or the computer - no matter how much the blinking cursor icon taunted me. Then I blamed time. As if this elusive thing in my life that controls my waking and sleeping moments was somehow holding my thoughts at bay.

Or maybe it was my lack of energy, the loads of responsibility I shuffled through like dirty laundry scattered around my home.

But no, these were not blocking my stories from forming.

I eventually had to admit that it was me where the problem lied. Denial is a powerful thing, my friends.

For someone like me, someone who used writing to heal her broken heart and shattered soul - having my voice blocked up and the words stop flowing was like putting me in a room with no window and no doors. It was like taking one wheel off of my car and still expecting me to drive it.

I would like to say that this block only lasted a few weeks or months, but really it lasted nearly a decade.

And what I realized was that the words were never blocked, they were always there scattered across my brain like litter on the side of the road.

My words were muted.

Turned down so low that I could no longer hear them. But I saw them.

I saw them in my sleep when I dreamt. I saw them in my daydreams and in my racing thoughts. They never left me, they were never blocked. I simply had lost my voice.

How does one lose their voice you might wonder? By shutting down every part of their soul to accommodate those they love. By building a wall to protect yourself and in hoping that the monsters stay out you lock yourself inside.

Here I sit, with dozens of half-written stories, essays, poems, and journals waiting patiently for their ending as I remove brick by brick the wall I built around myself so that my voice can once again be heard.

So how did I discover I was the problem? A magic fairy floated down from the stars and bestowed powerful knowledge upon me. I wish. No, I learned this the hard way - by shattering into a million pieces and digging through all the dirty and dark parts of myself. And let me tell you, it was ugly.

My first break came when I, more than half-drunk, loudly exclaimed (I may have shouted while ugly crying) my internalized frustrations to my husband. And from there, we started a long journey to healing. One we are still on, both together and apart.

See it all started when I found my ability to express my basic needs which lead to finding my boundaries, which has brought me here.

I have spent countless hours thinking and reflecting, trying to write down those thoughts, meditating, and reading - all of which built to the moment when during a grounding meditation I gave myself permission I needed to release my voice.

In the end, I realized I was in control, and the monsters I worked so hard to keep out were nothing more than shadow puppets dancing in the light.

If you are struggling with writer’s block or feel unbalanced in your writing, I highly recommend working on self-reflection. Whether this involves speaking with a therapist, meditating, or any number of emotional self-care tactics - the work is worth it.