Since I was a little girl, I have always wanted to write for a living. Creating fiction stories, writing songs, writing television shows, and more, was all I thought about. I fantasized about being a prolific writer, one that wrote stories that would change the lives of people. Stories that were read by millions, and translated into many languages. Stories that would hit the New York Times Best Sellers List and stay there for weeks. Yet, life didn’t go down that road. Instead, after high school, it veered off into the world of motherhood, down a path of raising a child with special needs. It was not a life that was conducive to writing.
Although I had many challenges, with the help of family and friends, I was able to go back to school and pursue a degree in education. This was great, but it wasn’t my first love, my true love – It wasn’t writing.
As I raised Nate, the thoughts of writing filled my heart and mind. So I wrote and filled tons of notebooks! And I typed, until my computer hard drive was filled with stories.
Yet, as time went by, I wasn’t sure if pursuing this goal was possible. My reasoning? Nate! “How could I move forward in writing with Nate? How could I write with doctor appointments? How can I write with his therapy sessions? How can I doubtfully asked, while deciding to give up.
Now as I look back… at those times… at those moments…. I don’t see Nate as a barrier, stopping me from pursuing my goals. It wasn’t Nate. It wasn’t raising a child with special needs.
It was me.
It was my fears.
It was my excuses.
It was my need for perfection.
It was me.
I stopped me from pursuing my dreams.