Writing makes me a person. My world is constantly constant, meaning I have four small children and one great husband, but I am a very needed person. I am rushing and running and doing and cleaning and washing, like so many others out there. I am frazzled, exhausted, frustrated, happy, excited, and so many more emotions.
But when I am writing, I am an idea or a thought. I have duties beyond the day to day. I have duty to share what I think and feel. I have a still mind, spewing out words quicker than I can write them. My mind clears and I understand myself. My emotions are allowed to come out without consequence, without stopping. I am not cluttered. I asked a friend what he thought of my writing and he said, “You seem still.”
I have been writing for years, since college and before that. It has always been a place of tranquility and peace for me. A place to commune with myself and with my Heavenly Father. A place where I can say what I need to, without judgment, without anger, without retribution. It is a safe and happy place. It is a peaceful place. One I enjoy going to.