I’m Hitting Reset on My Writing

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio

I haven’t written much in the last 2 years. I purposefully stepped away from writing because it was too painful. 

Why? Because the business I built up from proofreading to copywriting over 5 years was collapsing (like falling apart so much so that we were dipping into our savings to pay bills). 

And as I sat sobbing in the bathroom after one of my last prospects told me they weren’t interested in working with me, I knew then that I had no choice but to walk away and find a steady paycheck.

It was a bitter fucking pill to swallow. I had dreams of being my own boss. Of building something that brought in more money than I’ve ever earned. 

Instead, I put that all away for the security of a paycheck. I don’t regret my choice, because when you have little ones counting on you, you do what you have to.

But when this all went down, I stopped writing for me because it was too close to what I was trying to build. I convinced myself it was better to focus forward, focus on my new job (writing content for a marketing firm, ironically), and forget about writing for me. 

The last 2 years, I mourned the person I was becoming, the dreams that escaped me. And I let go of the parts of me that were too close to that loss.

Until recently.

I found an old journal of mine and realized that I’ve been thinking about this dream of writing, of calling myself a writer, or building a writing career for over 15 years. 

And it sparked something inside of me. I realized I missed writing. I missed creating. Not for a client but for me. 

So I made myself a deal. I’m giving myself 1 year to get my shit together. I can either write, build, and succeed. Or it’s time to let it all go.

And this is me putting it out into the world. Making a declaration of my intentions.

This part is actually really scary. I’m even hesitant now to declare this and hit publish –- to expose myself to failure publicly, to put it in writing on a page for the entire internet to read (not like they will, but you get me).

But honestly, the only person I’ll disappoint is myself.

So, I’m holding tight to the scared but excited feeling I have as I write this, the giddy feeling I had looking at my writing from two years ago, and the pride I felt at my words.

And when I start to make excuses instead of making time for my writing, I’ll reread my words here. I’ll remember that I write because I want to, because I have something to say or share, for the joy of watching something magical unfold on the page. I write to give back to others and to help those on a similar journey.

I write for my family because I want to show my kids they can go after their dreams even if they build it one small step at a time.

I write for me because this is the only life I have. And this is the journey I want to be on.