Why do I write?

Writing gives me time. Time to be patient with myself. Patient with my feelings, my responses to my feelings, my understanding of myself and how I’ll grow from my present moment. My present is a present exactly. A gift to be opened, explored and enjoyed. I bring my present to life. Untying its walls, releasing its gems.

Writing gives me power. Power to speak. Power to be heard. There’s always a voice inside of me, even when my thoughts may get stuck there. Writing them down brings them to reality. A place where they can be addressed and not forgotten. Exposed and not swept under the rug. Separated from the clutter in existence. I give my thoughts the freedom to be dissected. My thoughts are all important, writing gives them the recognition they deserve.

Writing provides opportunity. Records of my past with the chance to improve. Writing gives me options. Options for self-reflection, but also evaluation. The chance to share and the chance to inspire. I hope to lead by example. Relate through my internal battles, the ones most don’t speak about. Offer guidance by my own trial and error. What works for me and what doesn’t, on record.

Writing holds me accountable. Self manipulation is hard to accomplish when the facts are written out right in front of me. I can’t pretend those feelings weren’t real. I write my truth from a moment and then I can’t deny it. Do I want to feel that way again? If yes, the actions surrounding that feeling are saved. If no, let me try something new. What I’ve tried and didn’t like is logged.

Writing is a way to speak authentically. Mindful of my energy. Discovering my truth is a journey. Sometimes it’s easier to communicate genuinely when it’s having a conversation with myself. When I write out something that might not be my full truth, I can feel that. I know I can adapt, be the person I want to be. Writing is a chance to see where I am still on my way. The parts of me that I still want to transform. It’s easy to confuse who I want to be with who I am right now. Lying to myself by accident doesn’t come with bad intentions. It’s a natural, human tendency. Writing works as a lie detector. Bringing to light my true colors. My font might be in black and white but I see my words with sincerity. My vision altered through my reflection. Pages painted with color coded highlights. Some thoughts splattered crimson red, warning signs, longing for change. Others vibrant and bright, reassurance, confidence in myself.

I empower my ability to rewrite. Reminded that no matter where I come from, what I’ve gone through and felt in my past, I am capable of transformation. I can’t permanently delete my history. Backspacing won’t erase the fact that I felt that way before. Rewriting exposes goals. Encourages change. Motivates new beginnings.
New lines.

New paragraphs. BOLD DRAMATIC, underlined and important, stressed. Writing gives me release. A direct route to flood out my emotions. Reorganize and clean my mind. Moving out what’s heavy. Space made to breathe. The outlet to write my story with the new chapters I deserve.