I need to start writing again.
Need to. Don’t want to.
This is new.
For a very long time now, I’ve wanted to write, but I’ve not needed to. When I started this blog, my need was great. This space–this Now Is Good blog–was born of rank necessity. Four years ago, I was recently divorced. I was shocked/confused/scared/angry/hurt/determined/hopeful/sad/wounded/broken/searching. I was raw. EVERYTHING in my life had changed. The questions outnumbered the answers, at a time when I had just begun to feel I had everything figured out. My children were struggling. I was struggling. I wrote as a way of shining a light ahead on my path; of trying to look forward to see where I wanted to go … and then backtracking to see what steps I needed to take to get there. My need was great. My need was everything.
I wrote for a long time. About being single. About healing. About hurting. About him and about her and about me and about them. About how. About why. About why me? About just getting through it in one damn piece.
Then somewhere along the way, I realized I was through it. I was on the other side of the nightmare. The divorce, and all that came with it, was done. Over. Past. My past. It still hurt, but only occasionally. It was still confusing, but only sometimes. It still pissed me off, but only every once in awhile. (For what it’s worth, it still does all of those things … but less and less, and fewer and farther between.)
This is all the new normal now. My throat doesn’t tighten when I say, “I’m divorced.” I know how to navigate the party and play date invites from other parents on non-kid weekends. The Ex and I rarely argue about anything except money, and that’s only occasionally … and we would probably do that even if we were still married. This is just life. My life.
And I stopped needing to write about it.
I missed being here. I missed the interaction. I missed the creative outlet. I missed the support. I missed writing. I missed it, but I didn’t need it. I just wanted it. And certain wants, this being a prime example, fall way, way down on the prioritized list of Things A Single Working Mom of 3 Has Time For.
Stasis has reigned supreme for awhile now, and it’s been lovely. But as it does, that whole “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans” thing? It’s reared its ugly head. As a result, I think I need to start writing again. I’m not sure how often or about what or whether it’s going to make any sense or whether it’s going to be any good. Once again, I find myself unsure about everything. More on that to come. For now, I’ll just say I feel the need so I’m going to commit to making the effort.
And yes, just as with every Monday’s “I am getting back on the healthy eating kick and going to lose these 5 (ok, 10) pounds I dislike” mantra, I’ve said this before. Repeatedly. Feel free to ignore me this time. In fact, please ignore me this time. I haven’t intentionally cried wolf in the past, but it’s happened anyway. Knowing that anyone is watching or waiting (or reading) isn’t likely to help my performance anxiety.
I said at the beginning I didn’t want to start writing again. That isn’t exactly true. I do want. Very much. I want to be able to. I’m not sure I remember how. And I’m scared. But I’m going to try anyway. I’m rusty like you wouldn’t believe (and I’m not proofreading). Please bear with me. xo