I have typed possible opening sentences for this post, and deleted them seconds after. Disappointment and self-doubt was beginning to set in, but not today. Not this time.
In part, it has been a while since I wrote creatively. I’m a bit rusty, I must admit. What took me a longer time to own up to was my fear. I was afraid, and the fear only continued to surmount the longer I stayed away from writing.
I tried to remember the last time I wrote a piece, and I had no idea. I think it has been months since I tapped the “Create” icon on my blog page. That right there is a metaphor in itself. I hit pause on my creative side; it did not make sense, I wasn’t happy about that decision, but I did it anyway.
I missed reading books, and so I decided at the beginning of the year to read more novels, specifically those authored by Nigerians, Africans at large, or Middle Easterners. I read somewhere that good writers have to be good readers, and so I thought I was doing myself the biggest favour. So I reignited my reading habit. I have read a couple now, and although I really have enjoyed each book, I was never inspired to write my own stories. Instead I became very critical of my writing. I thought my vocabulary was poor, that my stories weren’t structured well enough. I reached the conclusion that the world would probably not miss my writing. Being in an unhappy mind space at work didn’t help matters.
The longer I stayed away, the more disappointed I became in myself. I remembered how this blog was conceived, how I worked so consistently, so hard, at writing and running it. That girl was so committed. What happened? I felt like I had let the figurative ‘people’ down.
I was afraid and unhappy. So I ditched the blog.
Until this morning.
A recent acquaintance of mine quoted a sentence of one of my last blog posts and shared it, along with a link to the article. The notification popped up, and I opened it. Something about that phrase shocked me. I kept looking at the it, asking myself if I really did write that. Did that piece of knowledge really emanate from somewhere inside me? In that moment, for the first time in months, I told myself that I was going to write again. So I opened my WordPress app, and here I am.
I started my blog because I wanted to share my honest stories and connect with people emotionally, to let someone out there know that they’re not alone, to possibly inspire people to have conversations with themselves and others that will manifest in positive change. Maybe this story isn’t glamorous or spectacular, but it is my story, and if one person can relate, if one person comes out with a better mindset from reading what I write, that’s amazing to me.
Isn’t it weird how I, and a lot of creators, want to always share fascinating and exciting stories, even when majority of the things we do are neither exciting or fascinating? I watch some certain YouTubers (cue: Emma Chamberlain) and I realise that sometimes people want to hear the mundane things, know what you feel, and know that you feel what they feel. People want to relate with you.
I didn’t want to share the real undramatic version of this story because I thought it was so random. I did not think anyone would like the real story, and I really don’t know if anyone actually will, but I choose to share it anyway. I want to be the best me I can possibly me, and that cannot happen if I’m not being authentic.
I’m excited to announce that I’m back to sharing now. I forced my creative box open. I hit Play. And I will share myself, and be as honest as I can.
Cheers to more.
Sidenote: If this is your first time here, welcome! I’m Ada, this is my blog. I started it about three years ago, and sometime in the second year I took a break, but we are back in business!
Please do not expect perfection, because I cannot promise to live up to that, but expect authenticity, truth wrapped in the love of God, and maybe a laugh or two along the way. I hope you stick around.