The Writer

Morning blogging was now a routine for me and I loved it.  My daughter would sit at the table with me and share her stories of what she was going to do for the day, the things she wanted to see and games she wanted to play.  I sit back completely captivated by her energy and happiness.  She is a power house of a personality and never fails to pull me into her imagination and world.  We lay out her play doh project and put on some music, she has her milk and I have my coffee.

I didn't always know what writing would mean to me, I always knew I was passionate and emotional with a desire to write but do I have to be 'good'?  When I decided to write about my journey I knew I could only do it if I started once I had come through the other side, otherwise it would be a mess of unfinished thoughts and unclear ideas.  Writing from memory has not been the challenge I had thought it would be and I guess you remember certain people and how they made you feel or impacted your life during that time.  If I miss something then I am inclined to believe that it didn't mean enough to remember.  I was not ready to relive the emotional roller coaster and find myself flooding my keyboard most mornings thinking back and feeling very much like I did when I was in my anxieties and fears.  My thoughts can trigger the darkness, but only as a memory and no longer a reality and that puts a smirk on face.

I looked over my screen and watched her unapologetically feed the dogs her snack mixed with play doh and I wonder how she will feel when she reads it...I hope she looks at me then, the same way she does now...