Why Do I Write?

The thought of being published is so far from my thoughts right now—or so I like to tell myself. Being published is a dream that always floats around somewhere in my mind. But I honestly don’t know what it means to be published. I don’t believe I ever thought it would make writing, or life in general, easier. As a published writer I would feel entitled to more credibility when telling people I’m a writer. Maybe it will be a way to support myself financially. But the day I realized writing isn’t as easy as most people think I lost all thoughts of being published as a perfect world.

Writing is about me being me. It is about self-exploration and healing and therapy. It is about doing something I love and filling up a place inside that is empty when I don’t write. It is about setting a goal for myself and accomplishing it. Writing is my daily trip to church—my affirmation that I am entitled to a spot in the world, that my life is meaningful. Writing is my daily trip to a therapist who listens without judging, who lets me beat her up or ramble on and on, who leads me to telling the truth. Writing is the one sure thing I have in life. No matter what, I can always write. It will always be there for me and nobody can take it away.

But sometimes it is about other stuff. It is also about having power and being able to reveal secrets. I would love to publish stories about my childhood so I can say: “See? You shouldn’t have done those things. You thought I was a helpless child you can control. You were wrong. Who has the power now?” Except my power won’t be with rules or punishments or violence, but with telling the truth. Sometimes my dream of being published is so I can speak up for those who can’t—to let the voices of the silenced be heard. And when I write all of this and think about it, I realize that I’m going to write everyday, one day at a time, for me. Because I need it. Because I want it.