I’ve always been a dreamer, always seen myself as having something about me that is more than what I show the people in my life. I suppose I see myself as having a secret side that I either don’t know how or don’t want to share. Maybe there is too much risk in sharing something so personal. Maybe it is a fear of rejection or a fear of being hurt again just when I’m finally able to be vulnerable.
Whatever the case, several years ago, I stopped writing. The words got stuck somewhere in the plumbing of my mind. What used to flow freely became clogged and stagnant. When words did ooze out, they disappointed me more than inspired me to write more. I felt like I was failing every time I put words down onto paper.
In addition to the feeling of failing, my H began to read my journal when I went somewhere. I’d come back from running errands or going to the park with the kids, only to be faced with an angry confrontation because something that I wrote about him was less than favorable.
All things combined, I just couldn’t write anymore. One kind woman I knew told me that sometimes the soul goes into hibernation. I liked her way of explaining it. That way, I didn’t have to face the fact that maybe the creative part of me had died. I was instead able to rest in the certainty that, someday, it would wake back up again.
I hope someday my creativity will come back. I hope I won’t continue to be barren of passion and intensity. I hope that my spark, my joie de vivre will return. Maybe this year will be the one where I come back to life, the one where I start to live again, where the words wake up inside me and begin to flow again. A girl can dream.