Sometimes I wish I was closer to my mom.
2017 had some definite highs – awesome job opportunity at the beginning of the year, finished my book, and some LOVELY self-care moments.
But for the most part, there were a shitload of lows: arthritis, heart problems, life problems, and world problems. Lots of problems!!! Damn 2017!
For the past few months I have felt like my body was not my own – hell like my life was not my own. I haven’t cried this much since I started watching This is Us! I have questioned my value and my sanity to many times to count and it would have been nice to have a mom like Claire Huxtable, Vivian Banks, or hell even a Cookie Lyon to converse with this year.
It would be nice to be like:
“Hey mom, I worked on this book for 5 years and I finished it – and I think it’s pretty good!”
“Hey mom, I’m scared that this heart thing is gonna take me from my kids.”
“Hey mom, I’m in a relationship where he doesn’t see me, but he think’s he does. And he gaslights me and it flips my world upside down daily! What should I do?
I don’t have that mother. Don’t really have those aunts either.
But I had my writing. This year, and more importantly when everything hit the fan, I put all my angst, fear, and desire into my work. My characters had conversations with their moms and they got responses. It was not my mother but it bought me comfort.
That’s what storytelling does for me what does it do for you?