Time to Get Writing

I still have my first journal tucked away in a box in a closet in one of my spare bedrooms. I was 13 and had bought the journal while on a family vacation in Wisconsin.

The last journal entry I wrote was date January 8, 2011 and it read "Mum passed away today, surrounded by family. She took a piece of my heart with her--I don't know how I'll ever replace it."

Writing for me has always been my escape. My way to heal myself. Growing up it was short stories with happy endings and poetry about my struggle with depression. I have pages upon pages upon pages filled in notebooks and folders with words and phrases and doodles and everything in between. When Mum died, even though we knew her passing was imminent, something inside me died along with her. I know. I know. That sounds like the clichest thing ever, but it's true. And the pain I felt (and still feel) when she passed was something writing couldn't get rid of, so I stopped. It was the first time writing didn't help dull all the emotions whirling around in my head and in my heart. Even now, nearly 15 months later, writing this last paragraph, the tears still fall pretty easily.

But that's not what this is about.

This is about picking up my pen again with a clean notebook and starting again.

While out and about with a good friend this afternoon, I picked up a new notebook (my favorite kind of notebook, too!) so that I can get back at it. To get back to writing. To get back to finding the quiet inside my mind. To get back to finding that peace within myself that I seem to have lost along the way.