It took me years to connect with my own words, to develop my own writing practice, to admit that I was a writer. But long before I found my own voice, words were a part of me. I love words, always have and likely always will.
Word (noun): a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence or thought.
As a young kid, I had a Five-Star notebook covered with Lisa Frank stickers where I wrote each of my favorite quotes. Every line was written in its own colorful gel pen to create a rainbow effect on every page and for years this notebook was my most prized possession. In fact, it remained locked in a closet at my mom’s house until my mid-twenties when I stumbled upon it and promptly threw it in the trash. A childhood treasure that no longer aligned with who I thought I was or what I thought I needed.
However, years later, this lost notebook remains the one thing I wish I hadn’t tossed. I am most certainly not a keeper of things, but that one lost link in my own story continues to haunt me. One final look at the colorful pages might offer me some missing insight or additional clues into my own life and I am so curious to know what quotes and words inspired me when I was only age 10.
As I grew I turned to books for guidance and inspiration and stories, devouring page after page in an attempt to feed a part of myself that was curious and deeply inspired by writing. Marking pages and once again hoarding quotes, I repeatedly found myself moved by the words of others. Knowledge and understanding were the things I was after and with time I began to recognize that the more I read and the more I fed this burning desire for information, the better I felt.
I did not study English and never fancied myself a writer, I just loved words and turned to books and quotes and stories at every turn. And then one day I stopped. I stopped reading out of necessity as the birth of my son marked a time in my life when I had absolutely zero independence and very little attention span, the idea of picking up a book and trying to make sense of words was beyond anything I could even imagine while sleep deprived and struggling with postpartum depression. So I stopped reading, I stopped looking for words, I stopped feeding that part of myself.
And that experience fundamentally changed my life. While I didn’t yet know it, words are how I breathe. The more words floating around inside of me, the better the air quality. And the lack of words flowing into my life left a very big void. It wasn’t until my son was a bit older and I had a bit more ‘time’ on my hands that I opted to pick up a book and almost immediately I found what had been missing, almost immediately the light returned to my life. I could feel myself entering into a different world, a world where I began to feel like myself again.
Words are how I breathe.
Connecting to someone else’s story, letting my imagination wander, filling my mind with images of a different place and time, this is what reading offers me. Not every book I read inspires me, not every word I consume changes me, but there is something in writing and reading that I fundamentally need. When the right words hit I am transported immediately. And I have repeatedly found that words give my life meaning. Without them I feel incomplete, empty, uninspired.
I wish I could say that this realization came easily or that I never failed to find words again, but that is not how life typically works. We often have to learn and relearn the same lessons again and again for them to actually stick. I have opted into and out of reading on and off over the years, I have found and then failed to find the words I needed time and time again, but I can now see a very obvious dip in my own vitality when I am failing to nurture this very real part of me.
It took me a very long time to realize that words are my lifeline, to begin to recognize what they do inside of my mind, to lean into instead of away from them. And now that I know I need them, I am unwilling to turn away. Words are how I make sense of life and when they don’t come or when I don’t make time for them, everything feels a bit off.
It was only through my own love of reading and devouring the words of others that I eventually unlocked my own desire to write and now writing has become another source of air. In the same way, everything feels a little more gray when I don’t know what to say.
And so I write. I write because I can, I write because I must, I write because without words I cannot access the full and real and true me. And I read. I read because I can, I read because I must, I read because a lack of words swirling around inside of me made me feel vastly incomplete.
I write because I can, I write because I must.
I typically read at least a book a week and often write at least 1-2k words a day, most of what hits the page never actually finds it way onto the internet or into your inbox or out of my notebook or computer, but that does not change the importance these words have on my life. It does not change the fact that I need words the same way I need food or water or shelter.
Maybe this all sounds a bit dramatic, but I know what my life feels like without words and that is not a life I am willing to choose. When given the choice to visit a library or spend the afternoon in a bookshop, you now know where to find me. Because words are how I breathe. Words help me to see. Words return me to me. Words make me, me.
Maybe writing isn’t your thing, maybe words don’t have the same effect on you as they do on me, maybe you need something else entirely, but do you know what that thing is? Do you know what makes you feel the most like you? Do you know what your version of words could possibly be? Do you know what allows you to breathe?
And in case you love words as much as me, here are a few of my favorite recent reads:
The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane by Lisa See
Class by
Book of Fire by Christy Lefteri
The Art Thief by Michael Finkel
The Latest Self/ish Posts:
#74 Connection: All the things that make us feel alone connect us.
#73 Vulnerable: Staying vulnerable is a risk we have to take.
#72 Comparison: What if comparison is trying to deliver you back to yourself.
#71 Stay: Why staying home didn’t work for me.
#70 Mirrors: Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.
#69 Strength: May your struggles help you find your strength.
#68 Transformation: Change is inevitable, transformation is a choice.
#67 Incubate: All good things take time.
#66 Decide: One day or day one, you decide.
#65 Joy: Identify what brings you joy and choose that over everything else.
#64 Non-negotiables: Make time for the things that matter to (you).
Full archive here.