A Note to Writers

Since I was 8 years old, I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. It was more than my dream, it was the only reality I could envision for myself. I steadfastly believed that, as an adult, I would be writing novels for my career. I started self-publishing books when I was 16, and those small successes only made certain of what I wanted to do in life. I ignored all other paths. Writing became the lens with which I perceived myself – it was, I thought, the only interesting thing about me, the sole factor which defined me.

Then, in the past two years or so, a lot changed. Most significantly, I got married (to another author I wrote a book with, of course). Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about just myself. I had my spouse to consider, and, eventually, children. Writer’s aren’t known for making a wealthy living, after all, and I wanted to be able to support my family. So, I began scoping out other careers. I stumbled upon occupational therapy: a well-paying job that I could not only enjoy, but also help people through.

Also around this time, I stopped writing. I put all my projects on pause as I finished school, got married, traveled, and moved to a different state. Every now and then, I would pick up the pen, but it just wasn’t the same. I’d force out a chapter or two, not be happy with it, and wait another few months. And I kind of hated myself for it. After all, this was supposed to be my defining factor; who was I without writing?

And I began to figure that out. I began to mature. I found other passions. I spent more time outside, hiking and adventuring. I painted. I cooked and baked. My friends, family, and dogs had more of my time. I watched Netflix without guilt. I started dreaming of a future with so many different possibilities that, instead of being overwhelmed with dread and uncertainty like I had assumed I would be, I was filled with excitement and hope and ambition.

Without writing, I was still me. I was more me than I ever had allowed myself to be. 

Slowly, my inspiration to write began to come back. I mean, I’d always been sad; I felt like I had lost a part of me, even if gaining this whole new perspective. But, as any writer knows, those voices in your head don’t keep quiet forever. I began to write again, now with new energy, new purpose. I wasn’t writing because I felt like I had to, I was writing because I wanted to.

Now, I’m getting ready to finally start college in the fall. I still plan on going into occupational therapy (and dreading all those science classes!). I’m nervous, but ready. For once in my life, I don’t have a plan for the rest of my life, but I like it that way. In regards to writing, I just got my first multi-thousand dollar contract for ghostwriting! I have never felt so capable and confident. 

In summation, writers, don’t let writing define you. It’s too fickle of an activity to do so. If you’re anything like me, one bout of writer’s block can leave you reeling with self-doubt, and thinking, “am I really a writer?” Of course you are. Once you’ve written something, it’s a permanent state of being. But please, please remember, you aren’t just a writer.