I am a writer. So I tell myself. I have stories in my head. So many, they sometimes blur together in my mind. The need to share them is becoming more and more overwhelming, yet I have never showed a single person a completed work. Not once. Are they too personal? Am I afraid no one will approve of the monsterous thoughts I have stomping around in my busy busy brain?
So what is holding me back? I say I have no time, but that isn’t true. I binged 6 seasons of Game of Thrones last year. Is it laziness? I work 60 hours a week, take care of my 2 kids and husband, make sure the pets are happy and fed, and make time for my parents every week.
I am pretty average as far as people go. There isn’t anything spectacular about me that I would brag about. I have a good job, and an amazing family, and friends who love me no matter what. Money is always tight but it is there when it needs to be. I asked friends and family how they describe me, and I was hammered with phrases like “supportive”, “understanding”, and “brutally honest”.
I am pretty good with people. Mostly. I can usually assess what it is people need to feel appreciated, or work harder, or give me what I need. I can fire someone and expect a hug and a “Thank you” as they walk out of my office. I am the one people talk to. I am where they come when they need someone to listen. But who listens to me?
Honestly, any one of the people in my life would make a great listener. The problem isn’t them. It is me. I don’t say the words I need people to listen to. I say words people hear, but I never really let them listen. My feelings are mine. No need for others to suffer through them with me. That’s what my stories are for. Holy Bob!!!! THAT’S WHAT MY STORIES ARE FOR!!!!! (In case you missed it…that was me. Having an epiphany. I can’t share my feelings, but I can give them to a character and write them.
I have come to the understanding that life isn’t perfect, even when it appears to be. My life will forever be like Las Vegas. Forever Under Construction. And that’s okay.