I am not a writer.

To claim myself as such puts way too much pressure to be something I am not — or someone I am not. I am not educated in the school of thought that it takes to make one ‘a writer’. The act of writing is heavy with responsibility; it has structure and purpose. There are rules to follow and expectations to meet — my own as well as others’.

I am not a writer.

I am a storyteller who writes. I weave words, thoughts, and emotions to create vignettes from my life and my experiences. I am learning to do so consciously, with awareness, much as I am learning to live my life.

But this has been a long and challenging journey which has revealed that I am more than the sum of my stories, and yet… and yet….

I don’t know who I am without my stories.

So now, I don’t feel very much like telling my story, or any story for that matter. Which is why I suppose it is time to do exactly that. I am ripe and raw with emotion.

Something is birthing and I am out of ideas as to how to stall the inevitable.

2 thoughts on “emergence

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