A Voice

When I can't sleep I sometimes read, or watch TV, or write.  I actually write a lot.  Only a fraction of what I write makes it onto this blog.  I have journals for each of my children.  I have a journal for myself.  I write blog posts with every intention of publishing it here, but in the end, for one reason or another I just don't think it is the right "time" to share it yet and so it gets "saved" for another day (maybe).

I don't speak well.  Too fast, often repeating myself, or sometimes I just find it hard to find the right words to express what I want to say at that moment of conversation.   Writing solves all those problems.  I'm not a great writer by any means, but at least I have time to think about what I want to say, re-read & edit, and of course delete entirely anything that just isn't coming across the way I want it to sound.

Reading and writing has always been an outlet for me.  I remember as a child I already loved to read.  One of the first memory of a Christmas present I received was a picture book of Cinderella - it really is the only memory of ANY Christmas present I received as a child.  I remember spending my lunch hour in grade school in the library shelving books instead of playing in the school yard.   I've written in numerous diaries and journals over the years.  When I was younger I felt I didn't have a voice, at least not a voice anyone want to hear.  A lot of the things I couldn't say to my family, and I didn't have a lot of friends to share with, I would pour into words on paper. 

My daughters are now 11, 9 and 5.  From what I can tell, they too are developing a love for books and reading.  But they don't write much and I hope that changes.  Or perhaps they don't write because they feel they have a voice - a voice that is being heard and respected and loved - even if it is just by me and the Big Oh.

Y.C.