Who were you? (A prompt from my upcoming writing journal)
When I was a teenager, I carried around these little notebooks, usually with a vinyl plastic cover, and filled them with everything from to-do lists, notes from friends, doodles, and ideas. Sometimes I would simply copy down a song lyric I liked or something funny that happened in homeroom. During down time, my friends would doodle in them with me, commenting on how they liked that I had this notebook. Other times, I included personal things like my fears or frustrations. They were quite literally an extension of me. Like a limb. I carried them everywhere.
As an adult, I am much the same, always looking for some place to write down an idea or thought. Over time, the notebook habit changed. I still have notebooks everywhere—in my purse, on my desk, in the junk drawer in the entryway—but many of them serve different purposes now. However, if I don't have a notebook with me in that instant (which is often), I write on my phone. This may not feel as romantic as a real-life notebook, but in reality, this is what works. When I am sitting in a dark nursery rocking my children or I only have one hand free while I tend to some other task, I can type my thoughts and ideas on my phone with ease.
Perhaps sadly, I find that the time I used to spend doodling in a notebook is now much more filled, with either mothering or teaching or other big responsibilities, and my notebooks sit empty. When I’m folding laundry or grading an essay and a thought pops into my head, it is much easier for me to grab my phone, type something out, and get back to business.
I feel many of us have found ourselves being very reflective in the last few years. Blame the pandemic or working from home or whatever the most recent life-altering event has been, but we’re more internal as a whole. For me, what I found in that reflection is that I missed parts of myself from when I was younger, from the times I felt free. I realized I need a way back to that part of me, the part that allowed me to feel through writing or simply just doodle in a notebook for the hell of it. My inner child was calling, and I missed her.
But why do we—even myself who very much identifies as a writer—shy away from something like writing? Is it too vulnerable? Or is It because we have romanticized it too much? I just don’t think it has to be that way. It can be accessible and simple, even if the actual act of writing is life-altering. So many of us are constantly moving from one thing to the next, and while it would be nice to sit at a worn wooden desk near a bright window in a cottage to write, that is simply not possible for most people.
I believe writing is a magical healing tool that can help us navigate the toughest moments of our lives. Writing is how I process everything from birth to death, and because so many of us struggle with processing the events and emotions in our lives, I believe finding a writing practice can help us through those times. When shit hits the fan, an empty page is always there without judgement or pretense. It's there waiting for you to spill your tears, your rage, your passion, your excitement, and your confusion.
“While it would be nice to sit at a worn wooden desk near a bright window in a cottage to write, that is simply not possible for most people.”
There really is no right or wrong with a writing practice. I somehow knew that when I was carrying around those little notebooks and gel pens.
When my life felt out of control and I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going, there was solace in those notebooks. Refuge.
There was no right or wrong; there was just a girl in her little back bedroom, pouring her heart out into lined paper.
There was simply a blank page that needed filled.
How do I get back to her?
Note: This is a completed prompt from my upcoming writing journal, which will be available September 1st. If you’re interested in something similar, you’ll be able to join the free August Writing Challenge very soon. Updates will be available through Instagram or check back here in the Store section.