Ever since I was a little girl and could write, I wrote. I poured my little heart out in tiny little love letters, to boys I was so hopelessly in love with in Kindergarten. I kept Diary after Diary, in elementary school to express my feelings about everything any anything. In middle school, as my awkwardness hit a peak, it was a saving grace. In high school, it was notebooks. I went through so many 5 subject notebooks, scrap books, loose leaf papers, and filled them with poems, songs and my inner daily monologues. (Man, did I feel deep. Ha!) I wrote short stories about fantasy, my future life, failed relationships, teenage angst against my parents, or the raw honesty of emotions that seemed overwhelming at the time. Writing has always allowed me to express myself in a way that was safe, honest and freeing. As I grew older in my 20’s, I stopped. It was as if I couldn’t write about anything anymore as my belly grew with children, and my marriage became the focus of my life.
In a sense, a part of my identity had been sacrificed to focus on these tiny little beings who soley depended on me for their care. I forgot how creative and artistic I was. I was consumed with reading article after article, obsessing about how my children were being raised. I think a lot of mothers do this out of a nurturing instinct. However, it wasn’t until the birth of my second child that I rediscovered who I used to be.
It was 2013, and I had reluctantly enrolled in a college level english class. I was apprehensive at first because my 3 month old daughter Penelope was still breastfeeding and I had a very rambunctious two, going on three year old little boy. I put in minimal effort at first and made peace with the 73% grade my first assignment garnered. However, It was my husband who pushed me to do better. Obviously, in my foggy moments of early motherhood, it was the last thing I wanted to do. I admit, I succumbed to my former ambitions of tenacious writing and found myself.
My English teacher was a true hero. Herself a mother of three, encouraged and unlocked within me a new sense of purpose. After submitting compelling essay after essay, it awoke the writer inside of me and led to a fit of lengthy, well worded Facebook posts dedicated to persuasion. Some of my favorite works of wordsmith-ery, is etched into my timeline as a response to inspiration in the moment. After sometime, I decided to develop this blog. It’s still a work in progress. I’m constantly stifled by several life events and experiences. However, It’s a slow movement of passionate progression, committed to expressing…. me.
As I approach my 32nd birthday, I can reflect on this random little adventure of short literary works and hope others enjoy it as well. Please feel free to comment, send me an email, or just tell me about yourself! I would love to know what inspires others to do what they love!
Sincerely sending peace, love and joy,
–The Pink Flamingo Mom