A Writer Forever Changed

So, for the past few days, I’ve been re-reading my old blogs. Yes, blog(s)…plural. Of course, many of you who have known me for several years may remember “Mare’s Life”. I had that blog for over a year and a half. There was also “The Procrastinating Writer” and “Flavorful Randomness With a Hint of Reality Bitten”. The latter two just didn’t pan out like “Mare’s Life”, but I’ve been reading through all three of them. Mom commented on so many entries, so I’ve been soaking them in just like I have everything else about her. Reading “The Procrastinating Writer” kind of made me feel a bit odd tonight. It really is clever writing. I can say that now…being so far separated from it. I had forgotten almost every entry from that blog, since I rarely re-read anything I’ve written. It was written during a time of huge change in mine and Mom’s lives. Mom had gotten a divorce. We discovered other areas of cancer. We discovered a lump in MY breast. We discovered that my ex-stepfather had started another family while he was still married to my mother. We discovered that his newborn daughter by another woman was in the NICU a few floors down from where my mother was recovering from getting both of her breasts cut off. We discovered that no matter what…we could get through anything together. I can read the emotion changing with each entry. It’s odd. It’s like reading about someone else’s life. I found myself being a bit jealous of that former “me”. I don’t feel like I write things that are quite that clever or witty anymore. I was much more opinionated. I took chances with what I wrote. Writing has always been such a huge passion in my life. When I’ve had nothing else…I’ve had writing. For years, I’ve had people telling me what an amazing writer I am. I still, to this day, do not believe it. Not that I think people are lying, or just trying to be kind…I just have this horrible negative self-talk that will never leave me alone. I’ve actually written about this issue several times before, so I won’t bore you with it now. But it has been a bit strange, reading my writing from years ago as if I were reading someone else’s writing. I can see it there. I laughed a lot while I was reading. Weird.

Mom was my constant cheerleader when it came to my writing. If I had written something that I thought was particularly fantastic…I would call her. She would read and re-read and ALWAYS comment on it. (She knew I loved when people commented on my blog. For some reason, it made me feel “legitimate” or something.) More times than not, Mom’s comment would be the only one there. But it always made my heart soar to see her name. She would always write similar things. “You’re amazing!” “This was awesome!” “I’m so proud of you, Baby!” Even though my dream…no…my deepest desire…was to have hundreds and thousands of people reading and commenting on my blog, somehow, just having that one sentence from her was enough to keep me writing.

It’s so different now. She would have hated my last post describing in detail the way that she died. She was always worried about who would read what. There were many posts I ended up taking down after getting that speech from her. Now…I can write whatever I want, and she can’t tell me to take it down. Though, to some, that may seem like some kind of freedom. To me…well…I’d give anything to hear her say, “Take it down!” I don’t feel guilty in the least bit about writing, and keeping, that last blog post. Even though it exposes such a private issue…I honestly believe that people should know that truth.

I don’t know where my writing will take me from here. I miss the days when I could write and be funny. I miss that cleverness. I don’t feel like my writing is anything like it used to be, though it still brings me some joy. Or maybe it doesn’t. Instead of bringing me joy, maybe it’s become just my outlet…and that’s all. And maybe because Mom took a part of me with her…maybe my writing will always be less than what it used to be. Either way, writing is my love. It is my heart. I don’t know what I would do without it. I have always wanted the people I love to love my writing. It’s one of the most important parts of my life, so of course, I want the people I love to love it, too.

So, my writing has changed. At least MY perception of it has. But I have forever changed. Half of me is gone, though five weeks later, I’m still not sure I can believe it. Regardless, I’ve changed. I am a writer forever changed. And forever is something I struggle to accept.