Words hold power.
Whatever their intent.
Once spoken out loud,
Can never return home again.
Words written can remain hidden for as long as we desire. We can keep them to ourselves as thoughts, but do not be fooled. They are still heard. We are led by them regardless. An intention is set, and consciously or not, they are still out there.
These thoughts set a change in motion:
“I do not want to hurt in this relationship anymore, so I have to let go. Doesn’t stop the hurt though.“
“I can’t take this job another day: I have to get out. “
Then things got complicated. However silent, the truth was out. I couldn’t take it back or unthink the thoughts.
Thus began the breakdown of my foundation. It started with that story I told myself. The story that woke me up to the possibilities of a better life and a belief in myself. It’s important because it has made me who I am now.
But does it explain how the, “I have no idea what to do with my life anymore,” statement became a focused team effort?
I heard from so many, ”You should write.”
“Write? What? Who am ‘I’ to be writing?”
Being a chef for many years, everyone said, “Write a cookbook.”
I didn’t want to write a freaking cookbook. Hmmm, maybe I’ll write about how I used food to get my body and mind healthy again. The only problem was, I wasn’t healthy, and I couldn’t maintain my health through food anymore. I was so distraught, I reverted to my old habits.
I have a talent for looking fine on the outside, but the inside is another story.
For months my sister said, “We should write together.”
“Huh? Write what?” I thought it over.
I do express myself better through the written word. But once again, who am I to be writing anything?
Lost, I remained in solitude with my thoughts… and books and blogs. I read a lot, and the repeating message was, “Do what you love. What did you love to do as a child?”
The answer was, ‘I loved to write.”
I loved words. I loved to write poems, but after one poem was found when I was twelve, it was repeated so often with ‘intent to tease’ that it became my tormentor. I put down my pen… for good.
Or so I thought.
And then one day, my downstairs neighbor was screaming at his young daughter. It made me ill, and I was shaking. Screaming has an immediate reaction in my body. Even raised voices can do it. It came to me immediately, and I knew I was supposed to write and what the content would be. My purpose, which had escaped me for so long despite asking over and over to whoever was listening inside. I recognized it as the missing piece right away.
I needed a mentor now. A partner. My sister. I always knew if I was to write, we would do it together. She is knowledgeable in this area. I knew how lucky I was that it was all finally coming together. It was time to do this.
“What am I, crazy? Really, I’m going to write a book now after all these years?”
But the answer immediately came back loud and clear, “Yes. I am going to write a book with my sister.”
The wild adventure begins. How fortunate I am to be given this chance to do what I’ve always wanted to do, but had completely forgotten once life got in the way. (~Andrea)
I looked at my sister and saw myself… struggling with identity issues now that an earthquake of health challenges and new questions had entered her mind. Unlikely, but true: I entered a similar phase of my life twelve years earlier. It took me a long time to move one step after another from where I was to where I am now.
I still experience chronic pain and wrestle with depression, but something is different now. Time has passed with lessons learned. Pain and suffering can be two separate things.
I saw Andrea suffer and said to myself, “I know this. Maybe I can be of help.” I started researching the kinds of things she might do from home. One of the opportunities I found didn’t suit her, but it wound up giving ME a road forward. I am now slowly moving through training myself – as a life coach and writing mentor. Continuing aspects of what I did when I was a teacher. It gave me great joy then and now with my first coaching clients.
If only I could find something to engage my sister. She was not ready to take suggestions at first, but I held a space for her in my own consciousness so that it would be there at the right moment, if she had need of it.
I knew she was a good writer, but honestly I didn’t know how good. I didn’t know how much the writing would take root in her mind, heart, and spirit. How the story would become alive for and within her, as it had for me in my novels.
That is the point when a writer starts dreaming about their characters and story, waking with ideas, watching a movie and seeing a structure, or noting narration or exposition they’d choose to avoid. It’s there, percolating under the surface all the time, tendrils reaching out for resonance and impact.
I spent time with her during her transition. By that I mean the time before she started writing our book, as well as day One and after. I cannot easily explain how much lighter her whole self became immediately upon grabbing a pen to find her purpose and principle character. It was a lightning mood transformation from the much denser self she carried during all those months prior to finding herself in writing.
It was like watching a parched sponge placed in a beautiful clay bowl of liquid, swelling and springing back to life as it absorbs that for which it’s always longed: Water.
Water in the desert. (~Leslie)
So here we are, sharing our stories with you in case they help you in any way hold hope in your life. We want you to know, that however slowly or quickly, with each step forward, things can improve.
We say this in the lightest, most pressure-free manner possible as we are traveling the uphill and rocky road ourselves.
We welcome your comments.