How I Came Here

I am sharing how I came to be here, and I don’t mean here physically, but here at this point in my life.

It was a journey of learning to accept who I am and what I want.

I have known that I wanted to be a writer since I was a child. I was, and have always been, fascinated with books. My favorite after-school activity was going to the library to pick out books to read. I was amazed by how people crafted stories and dreamt up worlds and characters out of thin air. I wondered where they got their ideas and marveled at an imagination that felt larger than life.

When I was eight years old, I received an assignment in school to write a story. I don’t remember what my story was about, other than it included bunny rabbits. We were asked to make drawings and bind them together. After I’d punched holes in the cardboard papers I had written and drawn my story on, I sowed it with yarn, and voila, I had written my first book. The most resounding thought in my mind was, “I can do this!”

As soon as I shared with my family, friends, and teachers that I wanted to write books when I grew up, I was met with disdain. I was told artists don’t make money, real-life is not for creatives, writing isn’t a real job, I would have to be really talented to make it as a writer, and the only way I would make it is by selling millions of books.

I was also told I wasn’t creative enough. My teachers reminded me I was organized and practical – I was analytical and better suited for a career in sciences. My stories and essays were never featured in school newspapers, and I wasn’t asked to share my poems in front of the class.

I did as I was told and I focused on math and science. I was good at them, but I wasn’t motivated enough to build a career on them.

Eventually, I switched to hospitality and management. It seemed to combine the best of my analytical side, my propensity to be a people-person, and my desire to travel. Once again, I was good at it. I was successful and talented, but I had no passion, no lust for life. I faked it on the outside, but internally, I felt something was missing. I wasn’t fulfilled, no matter how many promotions or new opportunities I got.

Writing didn’t surface as an option - I had shelved those thoughts long ago - and I explored other interests. I started a wellness coaching business, and once again enjoyed it. I’ve always been drawn to healing, herbs, and traditional medicine. But it still left me feeling empty.

Ironically, I wrote a lot throughout my career. Marketing copy, training manuals, presentations, business plans, reports, and most recently, articles for my wellness blog. I enjoyed those aspects of my job better than others, but it wasn’t what I was meant to write.

The universe, of course, works in mysterious ways, and it nudged me in the right direction. Seemingly out of nowhere, I got emails promoting writing courses, which I signed up for.

Before I knew it, I pulled together unfinished stories - creative ones - that I accumulated over the years. Every once in a while, I surreptitiously wrote fiction. The practice was so hidden that it didn’t register in my own mind as an interest or a hobby. I was in denial that writing interested me. Yet I accumulated snippets that laid in hidden folders.

As part of the writing courses, I was given writing prompts, where the instructor asked us to write about a specific subject non-stop for 5 to 20 minutes at a time. We had to write unfiltered and unedited until the timer dinged, and then we had to share the writing with the group. I surprised myself by writing stories. Words came out of me that I didn’t know I held within.

It sparked a fire in me that I hadn’t felt since I was a child. I uncovered the snippets I had dabbled in over the years, and I was drawn to add more. It was a compulsion - a calling I couldn’t ignore. Before I knew it, I had put a story together into a book.

I’d done what so many had told me I wasn’t going to be able to do.

Although it sounds like an easy task, it wasn’t. I had to work through self-doubt and fear, which took a great deal of internal work. It was difficult to quiet the voices of judgment and criticism that came up constantly. I also had to take a hard look at myself and come to terms with what would make me happy.

At first, I was not dedicated to writing full-time. I took small moments throughout the day to put the stories together. The moments took longer and longer until they took over my life. And here I am now, working with my editor to painstakingly revise my first book, Lonely Dove, and simultaneously writing my second book. 

I’m finally writing the creative stories I had wanted to write since I was a child. What I want you to take away from this is to consider:

What in your life have you yearned to do but stopped yourself from doing because you let the voices of others cloud your desires?

What can you do now to allow yourself to explore some of these things, even in a small way?

No matter your answers or your circumstances, may you have the strength to accept yourself for who you are and the courage to live life on your terms.