I’m the sneakiest kind of procrastinator. The kind who looks busy all the time. I am a master of busy work. Anything kid related, cleaning, cooking and don’t even get me started on house projects. I jump into those with relish – painting, teaching myself how to caulk outside, even pulling weeds – I love the satisfaction of a job well done.
But the truth is, I’m lost. I’m a 47 year old women who keeps turning away from what she knows deep down is her purpose. I feel it – the words, the phrases – always bubbling up inside of me, always flitting, unbidden, into my brain. I know who I am supposed to be. A writer. I want to help others struggling with the type of painful experiences I have lived through. The suicide of my father, my mother’s alcoholism, an abusive first marriage, my own alcoholism, fighting to protect my own children from abuse, bouts with anxiety and depression, chronic migraines…it’s a long list.
Back to that procrastination. I always find a reason not to start writing and an excuse not to commit. Well, that’s not exactly accurate – I always find an excuse to not do it publicly, to not put my thoughts, my words out there into the world. My computer is filled with drafts of essays, my email overflowing with phrases and topics and questions I am constantly emailing to myself.
I created this website 2 years ago. It’s been that long that I have been thinking about and wanting to build a community. Seeking connection with people hurting and trying to heal, or maybe just those on a journey of greater insight. So this is me, ready to commit and see where I can take this thing. For 30 days I am going to write, I’m going to build a new habit and I’m going to see where this takes me.