I wanted to be a writer from as far back as I can remember. I filled notebooks with prayers to God before turning to short stories at age ten and journals at sixteen. As a five year old I loved creative writing class on Monday mornings because we had to write what we’d done over the weekend. Most of it was made up of course. The reality was that my childhood home was pretty dysfunctional with secrets and violence.
Writing saved me. I have absolutely no doubt about it. I escaped into my own world where I was best friends with my favourite TV actors and used to meet them every day at made-up studios for lunch. As I grew, I wrote about abandoned animals finding loving homes, family dramas, and teenage romances. I wrote huge amounts of fan fiction based on my favourite shows, believing I was the characters. Years down the line when I considered that the characters I had created didn’t really exist, it was a visceral shock to my system, because they were so real in my head.
Then I went to university to study English and undertook a creative writing module as part of that. It wasn’t the first time my writing had been criticised of course; I had my share of constructive comments at secondary school. But this was on a whole new level. The tutors didn’t like my work. Worse, I was surrounded by people who were very clearly a lot more talented than I am. This destroyed my sense of who I was. You see, writing was my very heart and soul. It was the only real friend I had. I lived and breathed it. To have it torn apart by people who had no clue was like having my insides ripped out very slowly over time. I was struggling to come to terms with a painful past but this time I no longer had the writing I loved. I was on my own.
I gave it all up. Things changed when I started seeing a therapist to cope with my young autistic son and she commented on something I’d written about my childhood many years previously. She said ‘you write very well.’ I was stunned. I told her that I no longer believed that. I said I couldn’t bear to even hear it because it wasn’t true. She said ‘of course it is.’ Bit by bit, I began to tell her how studying a creative writing module had broken my heart. Telling my story, this time out loud, once again helped me to heal.
Tentatively I started to write again. Not as much as I did before as I no longer had the physical or mental strength, but once again it became an outlet for my feelings. I wrote a couple of stories about my son. Then I began journaling as an outlet. I no longer cared what others thought. Over time I began to reclaim the natural joy and creativity I’d had as a child. This led me to start blogging to share my thoughts and experiences with the world.
I no longer hold tightly onto the identity of ‘writer’ but I write. It is what heals the soul. My five year old self knew that all along.
My Inner Light 
Oh yes. So many sensitive writer’s are shut down early by criticism without affirmation. So sad. Glad you are writing again. I enjoy your writing, both the honesty and the clarity of it. I used to read my writing to my husband and the first things he said were suggestions about how I should change it. No clue if anything spoke to him. I stopped showing it to him, but realized later that he was a problem solver by nature, so he looked for the problems, And often his suggestions were actually good. But, I didn’t have enough confidence to take the critical approach without any affirmation. So, I quit showing him my writing. Keep on keeping on. You got this!!
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Thank you so much for your kind words. Yes too much criticism too early is devastating. I’m glad you like my posts. I’m sorry you had that experience with your husband- as you say, it’s very difficult to take comments on board without the confidence to begin with x
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Writing helps our soul be heard – and that allows us to heal. Beautifully written Eileen
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Oh Sarah. This is so moving and so like my own experience. I Leo went to creative writing classes and felt that I was no good compared to the others. Writing was my friend too and still is. Later in time I was hailed as a good writer and was encouraged. Please keep writing Sarah, though I am blind I want to find my way to your blog and read your experiences
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Thank you for your kindness and I’m so sorry you also experienced that. It is unbearably painful when writing is something you love. I’m glad you found validation later on. I’m so glad you’re here reading. I know how difficult life is for you and I love reading your words x
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When I was five years old and the teacher went around the room asking everyone what they wanted to be – I said, “President.” Every other girl in the class answered either ‘wife’ or ‘mother. I was immediately told that I couldn’t be that because I was a girl.
Granted, it was 1974 and I was in Catholic school, but to be honest – I’m still indignant about being told that to this day. I’m 56.
My second pick was to be a Spy.
I received the same response as my first choice.
I’m still indignant about that as well.
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As for writing, the best advice I can give you is don’t even think about your audience and what they want. There is a nice flow to your words. Write for yourself and the rest of us will read it.
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