Some days, I find comfort in words. Choosing them, arranging them, seeing how they reflect what’s going on inside my brain.
Often, I find myself writing something one day and reading it another day and asking myself who on earth wrote that? Because I’m not eloquent. I don’t choose words that carefully. It couldn’t be me.
And often, I find myself with tears streaming as I write, edit, and post. Because the words that are coming through me speak to something deep within me that needs to be acknowledged.
But some days, everything is too big for me to write about.
Some days I get one or two lines into something and I can’t go on. The tears blur my vision too much.
This is what happens when I try to finish Baby D’s origin story, something I started over a year ago with the intention of knocking out within a week. I can’t. (He’s fine – he’s healthy and happy and such a light. But I can’t bring myself back to those early days.)
This is what happens when I try to delve into the years of battling for education and acceptance for C.
This is what happens when I try to touch on what it’s like to have a child turn 18. What it’s like to realize that your days of playing at the park with your older children ended without ceremony and there is no going back.
Oooh. That last one is soft. I need to run away from it.
And this is why sometimes, I just disappear.
I’m here, in this life, and I’ve got so much that needs to be said. I’ve got documents saved with the titles to pieces that are rattling about in my head. I’ve got the tears to shed when these pieces are written.
But for now, it’s all too big.