Trapped In The Margins

Anyone that bothered to read any of the posts on this site knows that I love to write sad, depressing shit. Writing about big and bad feelings is my ultimate coping mechanism. It’s been that way since I was six years old. I have to give all of the credit to my mother, who taught me how to read and write. She equipped child me with the vocabulary and the tools to communicate my feelings. That doesn’t mean that she would always listen.

I’m grateful that my mom handed me a pencil and notebook all those years ago. I actually remember it vividly. It was on one of many family roadtrips. She wanted me to pass the time by doing anything that wouldn’t bother her. She simply told me to write. Being the snarky little kid that I was, I responded, “about what?” She simply replied, “Write about anything. Write about what you see.” I took what she said literally and I began writing about what I saw. The first thing that I saw outside of the car window were trees. My love for writing was born that day and has only grown over the years.

Perfectionism and imposter syndrome slowly ate away at me, despite my young age. I put way too much pressure on myself to write. The pressure would stop me for a while, but I always returned to my first love. As I got older, writing as catharsis became my default. I didn’t know how to write from a place other than one of complete and utter despair. It was my only way of understanding my feelings or the world. But the truth is that it never made me feel better. My words became a testament to those times. Writing joyful poems or narratives didn’t feel authentic. It was almost like a joyful or celebratory feeling was a betrayal to all of the pain that I felt.

Everything changed when I met my person. Joy slowly consumed me. The pain hushed and my heart soared. Things were significantly better, yet I was still stuck. I have spent the past five years trying to write from a joyful place but it still felt wrong. It wasn’t until a week ago that I finally made a breakthrough.

I, like so many others, discovered the beauty of the Game Changers series by Rachel Reid. I finished watching Heated Rivalry on January 22nd. I was so taken by the show that I got the first three books in the series from the library. I finished reading Game Changer by the 25th. Something struck me as I read the book. The book distributor Carina Press has a promise for each novel that they publish. It’s called the HEA/HFN, which stands for Happily Ever After/ Happy For Now. Each book is guaranteed to end with one of those.

I scoffed at the idea at first. Why should books have this guarantee? It made me think about my own original works more intently. I realized that I don’t have to write tragedies or constantly reopen old wounds to write from an authentic place. I can actually write HEA/HFN. This small change has been revolutionary to me. It has broken my chain of perfectionism and gave me the freedom to write.

I opened a short story that I have been working on for almost ten years. This story was not good at all but it did have good premise. I looked at what I wrote and decided to write. I haven’t stopped writing since and it’s been a beautiful feeling. I’m finally writing the story that I want to read. The characters are dear to me and I can’t wait to see where this story goes. This story isn’t for anyone except me. Maybe one day I’ll be courageous enough to publish it. For now, I’ll keep writing my Happily Ever After.