Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE
Yesterday, I was trapped inside my own emotions. I felt so hopeless as a writer, and the entire day was unsatisfactory.
Not only am I writer, but I am also a mother, and working as both is not an easy ask. As a writer, I have several ideas to cross through my brains throughout
my day. Sometimes, I can be doing something as simple as washing dishes,
listening to music from my favorite films (this is the stuff that gets my brain
working, and sparks my creativity), and as I’m rinsing that plate, a good thought
or a meaningful phrase passes through, and after I complete my housework, I
begin to write down that idea, but it’s gone.
I’m angry because I hadn’t written it down before it left me. Then my toddler acts like a toddler, and I tell myself to stay calm. It’ll pass, I tell
myself, growing even more frustrated.
Finally, my toddler takes a nap, and I have time to finish my housework and then, hopefully, write. I sit at the keyboard, staring at the blank screen, listening
to my movie music. “The”… No, no… “She sat”… No, that sucks… Aha!
My son wakes up. I can’t write. I take off my writer’s hat and put on my mother’s apron and tend to my son, and pray for ideas to come to me so that I can write them down for later. Nothing.
Last night, my boyfriend took my son into the bedroom with him so I could have some time to myself to work. Once again, I’m staring at a blank screen, begging God almighty for just… something. My mind jumps from one thing to another, and I become overwhelmed. Over an hour had passed, and I’d still written nothing.
I’m not a writer. I’m a failure. I’m not creative. I’m a loser.
Frustrated and plain miserable, I surrender to the bedroom. My son and boyfriend are already in their own state of slumber. My son, Elijah, is snoring softly, cuddling with his stuffed puppy. Calvin (Junior), my boyfriend stirs as he
hears my soft footsteps across the floor. I climb into bed, and Junior places
his hand on my back as I begin to sob. He asks what’s the matter, and I let it all
out. I tell him of my self-doubt and that I want to give up. He tells me
otherwise. He praises me. Not only as a writer, but as a mother.
I ignore him at first, sunken into my negative emotions. Closing my eyes, I’m neither awake nor asleep, but in between. I fall into a series of flashbacks, of the nightmares I’ve survived; of my darkest moments; of the times I felt that I was absolutely worthless. I hear a voice. And that voice says one single word.
Sitting up in bed, it finally comes to me, and I grab my phone and open a blank note page, and I begin to write.
Here is that short story.
Back and forth…
To and fro…
I’m soaring forward, feet first. And I’m swaying backwards. A wooden plank supports my bottom, and I’m held up by two dwindling ropes. I look up. A
weathered tree branch is above my head, creaking and cracking as I swing.
A cool autumn breeze whistles through my loose black hair, and my white dress flows as I continue to and fro.
My lips curl into a smile, regardless of the threatening ropes and tree branch. Opening my pale blue eyes, I see the sky; the clear, cobalt-blue sky, naked, with only a glistening sun to smile over me. Birds chirp from nearby and from far away. Watching my shadow cross over the brown grass below, I feel safe. I’m at peace.
I close my eyes.
Back and forth…
To and fro…
The birds have stopped chirping. The soft autumn breeze has become a swift,
violent wind, knocking me sideways off my original path. The ropes inside my
closed palms are thinner, as if they’re unraveling. The creaking above me has
grown louder into warning snaps and crackles.
My eyes remain shut. I’m terrified. I tell myself it will go away…
The whistling wind pounds through my ears like a rage of thunder, and I open my eyes. The clear blue sky is gone, and in its place is a dark, foreboding grey, almost black, sky. Another crack sounds above me, followed by low snapping on
either side of me.
Worried, I look down, and I sharply gasp in terror. I’m swinging on the edge of a grassy cliff. As I sway back, I have just enough ground to catch me. Forward, I’ll
fall to an oblivion.
I hear another crackle. Dear God, what can I do? How did I get here? The wind
roars around me, casting me I to a ferocious spin. I cry out, begging for
mercy. And with one final snap, I fall, grabbing onto nothing but the moist air
around me. My legs are kicking, my arms are swarming, and my mouth is screaming with desperation.
I grow heavier, I’m falling faster, and the floating grassy plain above me is
growing smaller while the rocky pit below me is growing dangerously larger.
I begin to cry. This is it. This is the end. I’m so close to the rocks, I can
feel them piercing through my flesh, impaling every inch of my existence.
Abruptly, I stop. There is no pain. Where is the pain? There are no rocks?
Where are the rocks? My eyes are closed tightly, afraid to look around. Reaching out, I grasp nothing before me. Below me, I feel something… soft. What is this? I caress my hand over the soft, fluffy substance. Relaxing, I open my eyes once more. I’m lying on a cloud? Arching my brow, I look down. Less than my own height below me is the sharp, deadly tip of a large rock. My heart
sinks, and tears begin to stream from my eyes, and I explode with hysterical
laughter, rolling around over the cloud like a child playing in the snow.
Suddenly, my elbow bumps something beside me. It’s hard, drastically
contrasting against the comfort of the cloud. I pick up the object and discover
that it’s a rock. Examining it a little closer, I can see one word engraved in
This story is written rather fast-paced, but this is how I experienced the vision that led to writing it. This is also how life goes. One second, all is nice and comfortable. He next, we feel as though we’re falling into a horrid despare,
seeing no light and no end.
The serendipity of the cloud depicts the reassurance that God (or whoever you believe in) will always be there to catch you. Things are allowed to happen, but faith can keep you afloat, and it can help you find the light again.
I no longer feel miserable or worthless. Sometimes, we have to reevaluate ourselves and crawl into the darkest pits of our minds to find our own answers.
Today, I’m not a failure. I’m a mom. A damn-good mom. A loving mom.
Today, I’m not a failure. I’m a writer. A damn-good writer. A passionate writer.
If ever you feel like you’re not enough, let yourself believe it. Sink into the darkness of your mind. Cry. Pray. Meditate. Plummet into your own horrors, and seek out that reassuring cloud. You will find it. It will catch you.
It’s okay to slip into sadness every now and again. It’s okay to have some self-pity once in a while. It’s okay to cry into your pillow. In the end, you’ll find
You are somebody, and you can do it.
I hope this has given you the same inspiration it’s given me. If nobody else is proud of you, know that I am!
I hope you all have a great day. Remember that you are loved, you are worth it, and you can do anything you set your mind to. Don’t ever give up! And as always, Keep Reading!