Freewriting My Way Through Motherhood

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What feels like a lifetime ago, I was an undergraduate student at Kansas State University. I majored in Secondary Education, with an emphasis in English. I felt like I ate, slept, and breathed English some days. (Mostly the semester when I thought I could handle four English classes. Note, I do not recommend this, ever.) In all honesty, writing became, and has remained, second nature to me.

As I became a mom three times over, I realized that although I wasn’t sharing most of my writing in a public forum, I was writing for myself more often. And though not usually profound, the words were honest and raw. It was healing.

On a bad day, writing helps anchor me; on a good day, it feels like breathing.

freewriting

Freewriting my way through motherhood has almost become a lifeblood for me. Sometimes I will scribble thoughts down for five minutes, mostly to get them out of my head. Sometimes a certain emotion is so strong that I jot down whatever comes so that I don’t lose it. Sometimes the papers get thrown in the wastebasket; other times, I save them to read later when I can process the emotions better.

If you aren’t familiar with freewriting, it essentially involves writing for a period of time without paying attention to any rules. I use it as a stream of consciousness a lot of times. But, you can also use a set topic or prompt. Recently, I have found myself drawn to images throughout our home that evoke feelings. For example, a number of months ago, I was cleaning up around our home when I almost stepped on a blueberry. I will leave the actual photo I snapped with my phone below, as well as the words that came with it for me.

I hope you will join me in finding creative ways to express yourself throughout your ordinary days. The ordinary ones really do contain so much.

One blueberry. I nearly squashed it as I walked into our dining room to scoot in chairs, spying it just in time to sidestep.

One blueberry. That’s the cause of these tears. There used to be so many more: spills, messes, general chaos. More time all together, all the time. There’s still plenty. Plenty of meals and messes. Plenty of time. I know this. But you see, this is my first year in over 10 years without a daughter home with me. And I am acutely aware of the missing, the less. I am painfully aware that I don’t see as many blueberries.

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