I write to spill the contents of my heart and mind in a way that only makes sense in words. To express my deepest worries and anxieties and to show the world what fear and emotion really, truly look like down to their very core. To be raw and vulnerable in the most naked way without having to face anyone else but myself. To give someone an idea of what the weather looks like in my head on that day – some days it’s bright and sunny, some days it’s the gloomiest and most treacherous storm you’d ever experience. Whatever season I’m in, I usually have something to say about it.
I write because each word that flows through to my fingertips is just another way of getting to know myself better. The words sit here and stare at me asking, “how are you doing?”, “is this ACTUALLY how you feel?” when nobody else does and then they form together like the most comforting being and they wrap me in the warmest embrace.
I write to find relief. I’m like the fizz that bubbles up when you crack open a soda. My feelings sit inside a pop can. I bottle my emotions up inside for the most part, and then when it’s too much, one little jiggle or distress, and I explode. I find solace in my writing. There’s just something about the soothing moment of slowly pouring your feelings out rather than having them explode all over and create an even bigger mess.
I have journals from every single year growing up. There is about thirteen journals on my shelf right now and a majority of them are filled front to back. I talk about everything under the sun – from playing outside with the neighbors, to the boy I had a crush on in second grade, to why I hated my brothers when I was eleven years old, to when I first started experiencing God in the purest and most beautiful way. Each journal has a different journey – a different self discovery and a new story to tell.
I appreciate looking back and reading those entries but I’ve come to the realization that without God, my writing is hollow and cold blooded. It whines, complains, and brings out the darkest parts of me that I don’t really like to see- the ones hiding deep down, that nobody ever wants to share. However, when I write centered on God, it’s like coming home after an exhausting, soul-sucking day and stripping off everything. Getting into a shower before it heats up so the cold water sends chills down my spine. The water pours down on me until it finally gets warm and it beats down on me like an everlasting waterfall. Collapsing onto my warm and comfy bed and it welcomes me as if it knew I needed it. Taking a deep breath in, a deep breath out, and remembering that everything is not as bad as it seems.
God is the backbone of my writing. He is the one I need to get me through my days- the draining ones, the rejuvenating ones and the in-the-middle ones. He awakens my soul in my treacherous storms and reminds me that He is guiding me through the rain and thunder. He has a hand on my shoulder with every word that pours from me. He is the air inside my lungs and exactly what I need.
Without God, I would never have anything to write about.