Dear Lise and Bree

Dear Lise and Bree,

I want to thank you both for the sacred space you fill in my life. I feel true happiness writing you this letter. Sometimes I compare the people who are in my life - "I can connect with this person on this level" or "She knows this part of who I am but not this part." I realize - it is okay. I'd love to be as honest across the board with everyone in my life, but even if I am different to some than others - it is okay. I wanted to write you both at once because I feel so strongly about sharing these thoughts with both of you.

I read your email, Bree, about starting to write. I am so truly glad. I also read what you wrote about not having the same writing background. About not being a poem writer. I also remember, Lise, you sharing with me some of your drawings in Bamberg. I haven't forgotten them - you showed me for a reason. Because they meant something to you, something that gave me insight into who you are by looking at who you were, years ago, when you drew those pictures. You were drawing me closer into your life by sharing them, and even if you didn't think much of it at the time, it meant something memorable to me. Like Bree, I hope you pick up the pen again - to draw, to write, to just express.

I am not sure where I am going from here, but I can say that I have a stronger center of myself than I've ever had. I feel like I am just beginning my ascent. I literally have no idea what lies ahead of today. But I need to share what is in my writing mind today, and that is, my hope for you. What I hope for both of you is this: To write from where you are and to write from who you are. And always, to write honestly.

Now, I know that writing is something important to me, and perhaps not to you. Perhaps it is drawing, or it is another form of expression. But writing is the place I can speak from, so that is why I think: write, write, write. It is also why I can only explain what I want to say through the history of my own story.

Many times over for many years I have been searching. I would put a name on my search each time I began: "I am searching for God." "I am searching for myself." "I am searching for my purpose." "I am searching for inner peace."

Each time, I would come up short. Not just a little short, but by distant miles. So each time I'd try to find a particular something, I felt failure. I felt like I failed. Failed myself. Failed the God I was trying to find. Failed others for not being the person I was pretending to be, or who I felt I ought to be. But months would pass and I would muster the gumption to try again. This time, searching for something else, and always, I would circle around to the same end - nothing. So I chalked up my existence, my life and my worth as somewhat purposeless. I saw purpose in being a good wife, in being a good mother. "This is who I am!" I would think, over and over, as I claimed each life milestone as my own. "This is who I am." But yet, my soul was restless. My heart longed in pain for more, but I tried to shut it off: "Isn't this enough? Why can't I just be content?" Thinking of those truly suffering, thinking of the impoverished, the poor, the sick, the war-stricken. I felt so selfish, petty, and incapable of maintaining true perspective. I would try to keep perspective, "search for perspective", but yet, I could find nothing. Nothing that would stick. Nothing that would calm me past a temporary moment. So I would turn outward. Outward to the news and the books and the blogs and the world around me, outside of me. I would admire the creation of others. Love the words that others would write, the deeds others would accomplish or success others would achieve. And each time, it would sadden me, anger me, or and push me further away from myself, because I realized - I wasn't loving what others created, I was only sad that I couldn't create something similar for myself, to believe in something for myself. Or to just believe in myself. Instead, I kept turning outward. I kept turning out and never in, towards myself.

I believe the reason why I could never find what I was looking for is because I didn't want to start where I was. With who I was. I wasn't good enough in the moment I was in, the skin I was in, the thoughts I had, the life I lived. I wanted to be more, and so I always began in a place I never was, a place of a distant dream that wasn't really mine. It was like trying to capture fog in a glass - I could almost see it, but then, it was gone. And I was left just holding an empty glass soul. So I let my soul go. No real faith. No real purpose. I'd run through the motions of life trying to love as much as I could and nothing more - "Isn't this good enough?" But my soul would return to me, always, restless and needing me, like a child to her mother.

When I picked up the pen back in January, my writing was ugly. It was cynical. It was satirical and cutting. I was writing like I was pissed off, like I was strangling the world with my pen and not caring who I hurt. But, here's the thing - my writing was for me. It wasn't for a blog post I thought I'd be sharing or for entry into a writing contest. It wasn't for anyone's eyes but my own. For the first time, I could read my soul on a page and say with an abiding, unapologetic "Yes! That is who I am! This is the inside of me coming out, pouring out." Part of me felt sadness for all the pain that lashed onto the page, part of me felt a sense of shame and humiliation. "And you call yourself a good mother? And you call yourself a loving person?" Why would I have these thoughts pumping through my writing veins? It was because I just began where I was. With who I was. I wasn't writing "I wish my purpose was..." or "I am looking for God..." I would not write: "The trees looked beautiful today" if really, I saw them out my window looking as broken and bare as I felt. I would write about their brokenness instead of writing how I wished they weren't. It was just letting the person I was be. Let that person have a voice. Have a purpose in every word. To just exist. I could be who I was because that is who I was. I wasn't God-loving. I wasn't filled with meaning and purpose. I wasn't loving every part of me, or every part of my life. And I wrote about it. I let myself just be. And yes, that is when it came to me, the realization that - I can be this person, in this moment. I can write myself out, line by line by line, and then I can close the computer. Put down the pen. And I can move on to just living. But each time, I felt like I could live more authentically. To speak simply and not to speak as though I knew anything more or was anything more than who I was. Many times, I felt sheer pain. Sheer sadness. I cried tears over my writing, wondering where it was all coming from, and more so, where it would take me. But I wouldn't stop writing because of the tears. I wouldn't shut off the valve because I was angry. And now, I won't pick up the bottle and begin to drink, to forget myself for a night, only to wake up, regretting that I was still the same person. I'd write through it all because there was always the other side. The last sentence of the night. At the other side of my final word, I would be met by a new moment for me to live in, for me to breath in. I could exhale on the page and inhale past it. For the first time I saw myself, honestly, there on the page. My words were not for judgment. They were not for comparison. They were not for God. They were not searching for anything. They were just honest, and I became good enough for myself to live with.

I want to tell you, assure you - you can write in any form and style. Not just a style you like or a style you admire - but the style you are. You write simply, or abstractly, or choppy, or in circles. Write a sentence or a paragraph. A word or an essay. It doesn't matter. Just write honestly. For me, I feel like I can breath in poetry. I feel freedom in poetry. But that is just me. I am not you and you are not me, and always, I would think for many years about how I always wished I could be more unlike myself and more like others. It just doesn't work. It's just a springboard for dishonesty. We can admire others, value others, but I believe we should start from where we are and go from there, and not the other way around. You may sit down and not be able to "find the right words." It is okay. As long as you are being honest, then they are all the right words. Don't write "sad" if you feel "pissed" or don't write "wonder" if you mean "struggle." Of course, you want to think about what you write, to a degree, but there's never a need to overthink it. Just write the words closest to your fingertips and they will always be the right words. You may sit down and many times cannot think of what to write. But here - start with how you feel, in that moment. Or the closest thought to you, in that moment. Are you looking out the window? Have you been thinking about a memory of your dad? Or a sadness over the loss or something? Or happiness about a funny joke you heard? Write about it. It will draw you into something. And last, don't feel like you need to write for a reason or to make sense, to have a conclusion or a lesson that you can impart upon the page. Maybe you can, or maybe you can't. Just let your voice speak whatever it needs to speak and then put down the pen. It's all alright, and it's all good enough.

So one thing I want to address is just this whole blog and this whole journey. To write honestly (putting what I say into practice) - I don't really look at this as a journey at all. I'm just writing, and I'm doing it honestly. It just happens to be that I feel a passionate calling for it - that I want so badly for you to discover that you are good enough through writing - that I need to write about it. I need to share it. I didn't start writing because I thought this is where it'd land me. I began very, very alone. I wrote alone. I didn't think much past the moment. But I realized how much of this I wanted to share. Needed to share. Even though I didn't think it at the time, I know now that is why I would email you my writing and say "Hey, this is who I really am. I want to share this with you." It was a beginning for me, because I'm always glazed over with an even-keel humor and strong sense of self that I couldn't break from that mold, until, I started writing. I realized that writing honestly inspired me to live more honestly. Hence, emails started flowing with my writings that I wanted to share with you.

That is where I'm at right now. I am not looking to change the world. I am just going to write, write, write. And today, my writing came to you. I am thinking of both of you and needing to write about how I hope you write as well. Don't try to force something to happen through writing; write and something will happen, but begin with yourself, because, well, that is who you are.

I love you both,

Stacey