When I get mad, upset or hurt I don’t show anger; instead, I become silent. I am a whisper in a crowded room. A shout into the wind. A muted scream in a bad dream.
In the past few weeks silence has taken over me, eating my words like a starving dog and consuming every last morsel until I am left with nothing–even the bone is licked clean. Sparkling clean.
Writing is my therapy, yet I have ignored what I know is best for me because that is who I am mad at. My writing is like my lover and right now we are in a fight. Instead of a heated argument, I choose to remain silent…brewing in anger…and shutting my words out.
But, now it is time to make amends. Here are my promises to the writer in me:
I promise to be more accepting of your flaws.
To not expect to much when you are trying your best.
To let you relax and not constantly push you.
To support you, and help you overcome your doubts.
To be patient with you and let you write at your own speed.
To believe in you.