Just the act of writing and allowing others to read it yesterday broke through many of the walls I built with bricks of fear this fall. The sense that I am finding my voice again has given me the confidence to finally revise essays and presentations and even reach out to others to critique them before I submit them to academic journals. More importantly, I have faced the embodiment of my fear, and I am stronger for it. I have not passed through the entire length of this long tunnel, but, if I may be permitted a cliché, there is light at the end of it, and I am moving purposefully toward it even though I am not sure what lies on the other side. In just the past 24 hours, I once again have the desire to write… to write academically, to write fiction, to journal, to write about anything and everything.
That singular post yesterday was more significant than it would seem to most. It opened the door between my heart and the page again, and I have no intention of closing it or allowing anyone else to do so. I don’t know if writing a journal entry would have done the same thing, but it doesn’t really matter now. I’ve found a way to express myself again. I feel like I’ve begun, not just a new chapter, but rather an entirely new book. Yesterday I wrote the first page. I plan to write many more.