I’ve never been afraid of a blank page. It’s really more like a mirror to me, a place to sit and breathe and shed the daily lint collected in my mind… then look deep into the clearness of my reflection and write what I see. This has been my daily ritual for months now — tucking the girls in for their naps, relishing an after-lunch espresso and “Scrubs” with Dan, and then settling into that quiet part of my heart where words happen. Coffee-stained clarity.
I’ve stayed away from blank pages the last few days, though, quite suddenly caught in a tangle of insecurity. Maybe it’s my old journal entries that I pulled out over the weekend–my teenage patheticness slamming into me like an anvil. Maybe it’s the remark from a friend that made me feel guilty for being so self-absorbed. Maybe it’s the six or seven hours of sleep each night when my body actually needs fourteen.
I’m back on my computer this afternoon, tentatively, and only because when I listed my reasons for not writing anymore (I’m pathetic, I have nothing valuable to say, and no one wants to hear more about me anyway), Dan simply said, “I do.”* Well actually, that’s not the only reason. It was just the catalyst. The other reason is my daughters. I want them to be able to read my thoughts, years from now, and understand who their mom was, is. I think if I had gotten that opportunity with my mother, many unfortunate circumstances would have turned out differently. I intend never to take communication with my precious girls for granted, and I see writing about myself now as one way to protect our futures.
So. Up yours, insecurity! And even though I now want to apologize for saying “up yours,” I won’t, because confidence is valuable. Believing in my own motivations is valuable. Even embracing my inner pathetic teenager is valuable.** (Yes, yes it is.) So stay tuned, because my blank-page, espresso-scented séances are far from over.
*No, I won’t share him with you.
**At least in the sense that you will soon get to read VERY DRAMATIC excerpts from my fourteen-year-old tragic love saga, as chronicled in no less than five journals. Look for Mortification Mondays, coming to a blog near you!