Writing has always been the way I process the world. Often, I would be drowning in emotion or confusion, lost amongst my peers, until I streamed my thoughts onto paper. A little humility tucked here, in an unassuming comma. A small spark of anger in the word that demands its own line. A tiny sliver of joy hidden in the single capital letter. I was able to discern who I was in the writings that came forth.
The birth world, motherhood, and writing found me young, when it was still a custom to hide one's passions lest it be found out that they had absolutely nothing to do with becoming a doctor or lawyer. Somewhat contentedly, I sequestered my passions away until society ate me down to the bones, and I had no choice but to chase my dreams. It was in the chasing that I realized my dreams were not for me, but for you. For the woman who yearns to birth her baby on all fours and catch the squirming life. For the mother that is convinced, deep down, she doesn't have what it takes. For the writer whose child never sleeps that quietly whispers "why me?"
This, is for you.