Ever since I could hold a pen, I would write.
I remember writing short stories, drawing pictures and illustrations of the images that crossed my awareness as I envisioned the plot, and prancing around the house with a folder of poetry that I had written and stuffed inside.
Usually, my poems were about love and loss. My stories were about friendships, boys, and the occasional thriller.
I loved to daydream. I daydreamed all the time. Writing was the perfect way for me to calm my frantic mind and express my thoughts, daydreams, prayers, and excitement for life.
I remember being so excited to grow up. In fact, I vividly remember when I was six years old, sitting in my bedroom, daydreaming again about what it would be like to turn 13.
13 came fast.
Life happened.
It happens to all of us. And before we have the chance to notice it’s happening; the inspiration and excitement can slowly die.
The folder containing your dreams and ambitions gets shoved in a box somewhere and forgotten.
I became a mother at the young age of 20. Becoming a mother was the greatest blessing. But with the responsibility came the pressure of society and the need to grow up quicker than I had actually expected.
All those times I had daydreamed about growing up, and there I was. Suddenly responsible for how another precious life would grow.
I forgot about my dreams. I didn’t even notice they had been swept away.
It took me another 20 years to discover those dreams again. And I did that through writing.
Looking back, I have always allowed my intuition to guide me through life, except for the brief glitch of complete avoidance during my teenage years. I let the need to fit in cloud my awareness and infiltrate my intuitive genius.
I just wanted to fit in.
But becoming a mother was the catalyst for my spiritual awakening. Becoming a mother guided me back to holding the pen. Not even realizing that the pen was calling me back. The pen was guiding me to find myself again.
There is something intimate about sitting with myself, invoking my Higher Self to come through and guide me, and surrendering to the truth. Allowing what truly wants to show itself to rise to my awareness.
Each time I sit to write in my journal, to write an article, to write a piece… I feel that magic that I felt when I was a little one. I feel her.
She beckons me to go back.
She whispers to me that it’s okay to play again. It’s safe to be who I really am and explore that vast landscape of magic I had once believed was so real all around me.
It’s safe to be curious about who you really are.
To dream big.
And each time my pen hits the paper, I learn more about who I am. I feel more confident, more authentic… more free.
Writing frees me from the thoughts that are not mine.
Writing separates the real from the fake. It connects me with that inner child — the one who I forgot about so long ago.
Because I get to discover what is real for me.
I hold the pen.
I still can’t find that folder. But the memories are becoming more clear every day. The light is shining again on my dreams.
Writing is a spiritual tool you can use to connect with your Higher Self and your greatest momentum.
The more you write, the more you discover about yourself. The more you write, the younger you’ll feel. You’ll discover that you can be as creative as you want when your pen hits the paper.
There are no limits to what you can write about.
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