I finished an essay this weekend and sent it off to a contest. It felt great!
As I said the other day, a lot of what I’m writing now is preparation for writing a memoir. Which, as I said, scares the dickens out of me, but then I’m excited too.
I also find that I’m angry. Very angry, sometimes. I have a long history of suppressing anger and having it turn in on myself in pretty unhealthy ways.
This in and of itself is pretty scary. I’ve had nightmares where I go on a murderous rampage because I can’t control my anger. I of course would never do this, but it’s a testament to how much fear I have surrounding anger.
What’s really funny is that everyone around me, to the man or woman, would say I’m this sweet passive person. Well, my husband might have something to say about me being pig-headed, but that’s different.
So I’m trying to find healthy expressions of my anger in any way I can. I need to start running again. I’ve even got a bunch of very zen-like plants.
But what’s going to happen when I start writing the memoir for real? Blow my lid?
Nah. I believe I have the fortitude to work through it and hopefully emerge whole and much more healthy. Hence the purpose for it in the first place.