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I had one of my readers comment on one of my posts that I frequently write about the “pain of loving”.

That’s true, I do. 

There’s a reason for that. Many reasons, actually.

But, not necessarily what you might think.

You see, writing is my therapist.

I don’t trust many human beings. The few I do are family, whether by blood or by choice. And not all blood family is on the trusted list, either. I  do talk to a couple of my friends, and it  does help, sometimes.  

I can’t imagine telling a stranger, someone sitting right in front of me, all the damaged secrets I have inside my head. (Yes, I see the irony of that remark, considering what I’m doing here, on this blog…but you’re not here, and that makes all the difference in the world)

But writing…ah writing things down has always helped me. Ever since I was a kid, writing has been my closest companion, my dearest confidante. My heart was poured out more times than I can count, into stories, poems, diary entries. Notebooks were filled, and either saved, discarded or burned. 

Writing brings me solace, when it exists nowhere else. It brings me clarity, when my eyes can’t see clearly. It tells me truths I don’t even realize… Until I see them in my own print, in my own words.

I’ve said before, that I write for myself, and that’s the truth.

Because I have to.

Painful? Sometimes, yes. Hell…often.

But there are also moments of joy, times of thoughtfulness, periods of downright silliness.  I write about my children, my grandson, my animals, my friends, my faith. I write about my life, messy & complicated as it can be , sometimes.

I write about the things I’m experiencing at the time I’m writing. My children are all gone. (Well, OnlySon isn’t really, but he’s with his father for the summer, so it does make a difference) ElderDaughter has moved to Washington state, taking Schnicklefritz along. YoungerDaughter has now graduated from college. She’s a woman grown into her own, no matter that she says she’d rather be a child again.

I don’t, and won’t, write about work, much. There are reasons for that, as well.

So, I write about what moves me. What puzzles me, what terrifies me & what makes me laugh…and cry.

Right now…I’m working out my issues with relationships. Because that’s what I have to deal with now. It’s where I’m sitting, at this moment.

And yes, it’s painful. 


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