I am a writer.

There’s a yoga and writing retreat happening the weekend of my 42^nd birthday. Two lovely young women whom I have mad respect for are hosting it. I remember when I saw the post on facebook about it I thought, “I LOVE them!!! What a great idea!! Too bad I don’t write. I’d like to go to that.” Because I don’t feel like a writer. Not me. I can’t write. You see, I have a brain that tells me that everything I try to do isn’t enough. That I should be better. I watch you do something and it’s significant. YOU can write. YOU can cook. YOU can paint. YOU can do yoga. And the same eye trained on myself says “You Can’t.”

In a conversation with a friend recently, it was explained to me that oftentimes the mere act of doing something qualifies you as someone who does that thing. Go ahead, read it again. I tried a bunch of different ways to word it, and that’s all I’ve got. Example: If you go to the gym, you are someone who goes to gym. If you vote, you are a voter. If you paint, you are a painter. If you murder someone… not a good example. So, the simple fact that I have written – I have put pen to paper or fingers to keys and put down my thoughts – makes me a writer. So my argument (as is usually so) is invalid.

I am a writer.

A few weeks ago, my dear friend posted about why she writes and she asked me to do the same. I was surprised and honored that she would want to hear my thoughts. See paragraph one - *I’m not a writer.* Except that I am.

I felt pressured to write something really profound and powerful. You see, all the people she asked are REAL bloggers. They take these beautiful words and send them out into the universe and they touch people’s lives. And she did ask them. But she also asked me.

Why do I write?

I write because sometimes the words in my head pound like a drum until I let them out.

I write because it feels good when someone thanks me for my courage and for my words.

I write because pain shared is pain lessened.

I write because joy shared is joy multiplied.

I write because, like each of us, due to my experience I am uniquely qualified to carry a message of hope to someone.

I write because sometimes I get very angry and the words want to explode from my chest and putting them down eases the fire in me.

I write because every now and then, I see myself as funny and charming.

I write because it counters the voice in my head that tells me that since I have a GED and no college diploma, that I’m not intelligent.

I write because I have something to say.

I write because I want to celebrate something with you.

I write because sometimes my higher power and your higher power conspire together to help us both.

I write because when I get the nudge, I have an obligation to act. Many different pieces had to fall into place to ensure I was able to get to where I am today. Who am I to decide that what I’m being led to say isn’t worthy?

I write because sometimes I like to hear myself talk.

I write because maybe, just maybe, my experience will resonate with you.

I write because when I hear you share openly and vulnerably, it gives me courage. Your words can and do help me so much. I want to pay that forward.

I write because fear is very tall and it’s very wide – like a giant wall. When I look at it, it fills the whole horizon. But fear isn’t very deep. If I try, I can push right through it. Someone had to teach me that. What if you never hear that message because I’m too afraid to say it? And how else can I prove to you the truth in those words than to push through myself?

I write because sometimes the words get stuck in my brain like a song that won’t go away.

I write because I want you to like me.

I write because my whole life I’ve never been able to practice authenticity. I needed you so much that I sold myself to be the one I thought you needed me to be. I needed you to stay and love me. I have found authenticity through vulnerability. My greatest expression of that vulnerability is through telling you the truth, even when it isn’t pretty. Even when you may not like it. Even when I’m afraid. Even when it might mean I’ll lose you. Through that, I have found me AND I have found you.

I write because I’ve found myself surrounded by amazing women who love and support me. These women encourage me to be the best me that I can be. These women want to hear what I have to say. These women look at me and see me as enough, even when I can’t do that for myself. Through their eyes, I’ve begun to see a woman worthy of respect. Someone who is funny and charming and kind. Someone who is worth loving. So, I write. For them. And for me.