Writing has always given me a solace from life stresses. As a child, prior to learning the lovely scrawl my mother had perfected that I came to know as cursive handwriting, I would scribble loops all over a piece of paper in the name of language arts. While playing “teacher” with dolls and teddy bears, I would write out elaborate lesson plans and seating arrangements. I won various composition contests that instructors would enter my work into throughout elementary and middle school and looked forward to memorizing spelling words in preparation for Friday quizzes…to make my teachers proud. Spanning high school, I acquired numerous opportunities to speak in front of my peers, and I attended end-of-year award ceremonies to commend me for the straight A’s I made in English courses.
Me and writing just clicked.
My first instinct when I got into my dream college was to study to become a medical doctor and move along a pre-med track. However, at the insistence of my collegiate advisor to major in something I was passionate in, I declared “English Pre-Med.” Those medical aspirations plunged from the picture once I discovered how much science and mathematics I would have had to take.
It was shallow, yes, but I call it destiny in retrospect.
After undergrad, I considered going into publishing. I shifted towards professional writing to be more well-rounded and remained local in Georgia as I earned my master’s degree. While in graduate school, I began a career with the company I am still with and learned of adjunct teaching opportunities at nearby technical colleges.
This brings me up to my current history.
It’s strange to have been so fortunate to dedicate my possibilities around a writing existence. I have worked in public relations. I have written a young adult novel. I was a professor, then an Associate Dean, for many years.
Now, I write a parenting blog.
It seems “backwards,” eh?
I find my blog to represent freedom. It’s something I truly love. It gives me bypass. At this moment in my life with a preschooler and a toddler, an excursion into my head is blameless.
I now write to find answers and to explore options. I want to be the best mother that I can be for my children. Writing gives me the chance to figure it out, work on it, and reflect on elections. I honor my authorial voice; I salute my talents. I sleep with ideas and eat with dreams. I take all the time I need, or take no time at all.
On this new year’s entry, I am thankful to the Universe and I commemorate those who take care of children or who have raised children: parents, grandparents, caregivers, babysitters, nurses, and family friends. It is a difficult and extraordinary journey. I write to take it in and make it mine.