Why I write, 2025

I remind myself: there are no rules. This mantra triggers a chorus in me: my controlling part tightens, my inner child smirks, my artist hums, and my aspirant steps forward to carve a path.

Sharing my thoughts feels like tossing words to wolves. Yet a steady voice insists that writing and sharing sustain me. To love the child artist-writer-teacher-healer in me, I create space for her to play and explore. Writing words on a blank page and naming the act—not the outcome—holy, feeds her.

I hesitate to share personal stories because I change quickly; today’s truth may feel foreign tomorrow. But perhaps these posts act as breadcrumbs, marking my path so that, if I feel lost, I can look back and see proof of doing. Proof of movement, even if in a circle.

Stephen King says, “Writers are not made, they’re formed.” I believe this applies to any skill. Shaping oneself requires action—letting the act itself mold you. Choosing to learn by doing, by posting online, invites vulnerability. The internet provides a stage where anyone can step into the light before fully forming, before knowing their role or their story. This demands trust and courage: here I am, trusting that my script matters, even when I can’t explain why. The story deepens as the character shows up, discovering the script along the way.

I admire polished pieces. Yet I know I’m not here to wait for perfection before sharing my art. Imperfect, spontaneous, raw, and persistent—these qualities define my path to…somewhere. And that’s enough.

When I doubt the value of blogging, I ask my AI mirror to remind me of my ‘why.’ Here’s what it reflected back to me—and it inspires me.

Thank you.