How I Started Writing… Again
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s a young person, I called myself a writer. Young people are always asking, “Who am I?” My answer was simple: I’m a writerI was never without a notebook and pen. I had strong opinions about both. My pen of choice? The blue Paper Mate. It was affordable, reliable, and the best I could get on a shoestring budget. Even now, I think it’s unbeatable. For paper, it had to have a dark, bright blue line—nothing else would do. This paper I’m using now? It’s fine, but it would’ve never made the cut back then. I only bought it online because, apparently, product photos don’t consider the importance of line color to people like me.
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Writing was how I made sense of the world. I wrote my feelings, my thoughts, my hopes, and my fears. It was me and my pen—nothing else mattered. One of my favorite pieces, Me, Myself, and I, didn’t come until years later, somewhere between treatment. It was about all the fun I had with myself, how I talked to myself, how I walked with myself.
But somewhere along the way, I stopped writing. I can’t remember having a notebook in college—not in my mom’s house, my apartment, or anywhere else. From college until I read The Four Agreements during a retreat, writing disappeared from my life. I’d pick it up sporadically, but never with the consistency or passion I’d had as a kid. Writing got me through a rough childhood. Without it, I’m not sure how I would’ve coped. And while I sometimes wish my path had been smoother, I know now that without the struggle, I wouldn’t have the story I have today.
Last night, I watched something about the power of words, and I felt it. Words are so powerful—they can create or destroy. I understand now why lying feels like such a violation. It’s a deliberate misuse of the word, this sacred thing that holds the power to shape our world. I’ve always known this truth, but I forget sometimes. We all do. I am imperfect, but I’ve made a decision: I will use my words for good. I will share my story.
Tony Robbins said, “Tell a story the way you needed to hear it. Write the book you needed to read.” That stuck with me. I’m excited to write the book I needed to read. I want to speak to the woman I was. I want to tell her it’s going to be okay. I want to give her a guide, something to hold onto when the world feels too much.
Everything has brought me to this moment. Recently, it feels like an unstoppable flow has carried me back to writing. Like bamboo, which grows underground for five years before it ever breaks the surface, all my growth and work were happening quietly. Now, I’m breaking through the ground, hitting the air, and I’m so grateful—for then and for now.
This piece is the first in my new, everyday commitment to writing. Something simple. Something real. Thanks to Marcus Williams for the nudge.
Now I’ve started writing… again.
