Writing

Writing. It clears the mind and heals the soul. I have filled a countless number of notebooks with my thoughts, hopes, dreams, regrets, tears and fears over the years. Where are these books now? Some of them were burned along with the bridges they represented, others were thrown in the trash with disgust. I am sure I have two or three floating around my house now, in boxes with other long forgotten items. Perhaps one even remains in the attic of my parents' home.

Through all of the changes, the ups and downs, the twists and turns, one thing remains constant: the words written on those pages represent a part of me at that moment in time. These are the events that helped to shape and mold me into the woman I am today.

Have you ever recorded your thoughts and emotions in the middle of a struggle, then returned after the storm to read those pages again? I have. It sometimes makes me feel foolish and silly. However it also serves as a moment of realization and growth. It reminds me that in the middle of a situation, when I am feeling overwhelmed by life, as if all of the walls around me are closing in, there is light on the other side. This is just a small segment of my life as a whole. If I can make it through the darkness surrounding me, the sun will be waiting for me soon, shining light into the shadows. If I am particularly lucky, the shining will even reveal the significance and meaning to this segment of the journey. If not, I wait and I grow. Always growing, forever reaching.