Today I felt extreme uneasiness, anxiety and uncertainty about my memoir.

‘You are not a good enough writer to be an author.’

‘What are you trying to prove and at what expense?’

‘What if you hurt your family in the process? Sharing this part of your family’s history, if it hurts them, it does not matter if it will help others.’

‘Please, give me a sign that this leap of faith is worth it in the end.’

I responded to my brother’s email that I was unable to decode.  This discouraged me. I  tried so hard to find the meaning but I felt a sudden wave of guilt that I was putting him at risk.

“I have hit a roadblock. I cannot do this alone.  I need input from others but I do not think everyone is ready to share this.”  xoxox BZ

.

.

.

I placed my phone on the kitchen counter and escaped to my front steps, my mind racing with accusations.  Certainly, I cannot be the first writer to experience this, but I have not been tested.  My writing is in its infancy, even though I have utilized it most of my life.  I am not ready to play with the big boys.  I might actually be delusional myself.

I let the racing thoughts form a freeway in my mind, but I know well enough not to let them create a track.  They are speeding cars with somewhere else to go, far away from me. I knew they would pass and I had to allow their crossing but that did not stop them from hitting me in my gut on route.

I focused on my breathing.  I lifted my eyes to the sky.  I witnessed the trees sway in the warm summer breeze, felt its gentle touch on my shoulders and on my loose strands of hair.  I listened to the birds chirping.  I felt the stillness, wavering as if in the breeze, but I know it is a permanent piece of my landscape regardless.

I waited for a sign.  I did not get one, but my mind did still within a reasonable amount of time.

I am aware enough that I hit an emotional roadblock in my memoir.  I recognized the young child in me searching for help, validation, praise.  ‘I need help. I cannot do this alone.’  My achilles heel, especially because I know I am at a precipice in my memoir.

.

.

.

I immediately was able to comfort myself.  ‘I will journal about this. This is part of the process.  I need to articulate it, empower myself.  The only way out is through.’

I still have uncertainty about where this memoir will take me, how many more roadblocks I will have to navigate or even if it will ever be completed.  I do know that every step I take in this process is enabling me to continue to grow and challenge myself.  For now, these are the tracks I will focus on laying down.

.

.

.

And, as if on cue, I open to this response, “we have something to talk about i hope…coming up with an additional work of short form…”

For now, this is sign enough to further ease my mind and continue to have faith in this labor of love.

 

 

 

‘