Thoughts on Growing Up

Writers Block, I Blame My Mom


I feel like I am stuck in a prison, of all the things I cannot say. Being a writer is like eating a spoonful of peanut butter and then hearing that you just won an all expense paid trip to Europe. It’s full of these gleeful realizations about life that are confined to your brain because writing them down would somehow influence other people.

Writing down any realization or experience involves people, my friends and my family. I cannot say anything without offending someone, but if I say nothing I feel just as imprisoned.

I am dramatic, I am exhausting and emotionally charged. So my writing spills out like the electricity built up in a wool sweater.

There are so many drafts sitting in my “posts” that I will never be able to complete as long as I care about the people around me. I want to tell a story, but change the story to protect people and reputations. But I also want to tell the truth, but what if my “truth” is a lie to the person who reads it?

What if I am what I fear being the most, a liar?

How, as a writer, with words clogging up my finger tips, do I expose myself and protect others?

I don’t know the answer.

My cousin Ally told me, when I write to ask myself, “what value am I offering my reader when I write?” And Anne Lamott says to write your first draft like everyone you know is already dead.

I wonder if there is a way to mash these two thoughts together and tell a good story. A truthful tale. Dump out all the words, then pull out my exacto knife, aka “delete key” and just slash my thoughts to pieces, until I have a real, rich, personal anecdote, or perhaps a ransom note made up of letter bits.

Either way, I cannot be afraid to write things down, because if i’m honest, it’s not others I am afraid of exposing, it’s myself. Once I expose the worst parts of me, apathy is no longer an option. When I know the truth about myself, I cannot walk away from it. This is the real reason for the word jam in my finger tips.

I am in a prison of my own making. Time for a jail break.


*Disclaimer ›› Dear Mom, I don’t actually blame you, I hope that was cleared up in the end. But blaming our parents for our problems is a classic move from my generation. I think  that’s how the title popped into my head.

2 comments on “Writers Block, I Blame My Mom

  1. So you’ve basically summed up my entire inner-struggle for the last 6 months. Of course, you crafted it much more eloquently than I could.

    Thank you for being raw and authentic. At the end of the day, that’s what’s most refreshing. We don’t necessarily have to come up with an earth-shattering bold statement with each post. Nor do we need to bleed out our testimony onto every page of every-single-blog post.

    But if we can be honest and purely motivated…That goes a long way.

    Thank you for this!

    1. As always, it’s nice to know I am not alone in my writerly fears. I should treat my blog as a practice tablet, just a place to get those words down! Whatever they might be, one post at a time.

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