Gelyka Dumaraos After more than a year of procrastinating, I am finally writing my first ever piece out of my full-time work as a writer—I am now back to personal blogging—a thing I haven’t done in quite a while because, yep, life happens.
You see, I write for a living—every single work day for the past ten years of my life. As a freelance writer, I write about a wide range of topics daily. From travel and health to finances and even car repair! But I haven’t had time to write about my personal life on my blog. My previous entry was a year ago, and I put blogging completely on hold for a long time.
I know I was busy working and earning. I traveled a lot with my partner, spent more time with my family, and did household chores on my rest days, but I never checked my blog and maybe wrote a paragraph or two.
Here’s the thing—I have gone entirely astray from chronicling my personal life—which I have always loved doing since I was in high school—simply because of a heartbreak.
When my father died, I felt like a part of me had also left this world. And I don’t have the courage to write down what I feel. The pain I was dealing with was too much to handle, and I couldn’t face it.
Writing about my thoughts was the last thing I wanted to do while grieving. I knew in my heart that to be able to move forward, I needed to lay down what I felt, but I was too scared and cowardly to do just that.
I wanted to spill what was inside my heart, but I couldn’t seem to find the right words that would do justice to what I felt. There are no right words to describe grief. And I know that as I write, I won’t be able to finish a paragraph anyways.
Stopping from writing was a sort of escape for me. To not feel the pain, or set it aside at least.
Back in my high school days, I would keep a journal—a diary, that’s what I called it back in the day. It was my best friend, and it’s where all my deepest feelings are. I wrote essays, poems, and songs about myself, about love, all the rejections, and heartaches, my family, my dreams and aspirations, and just about anything just to pour what’s inside my heart. That’s where it all started, my love for weaving words and creating a piece I can call my own.
Oh, I miss that girl. The girl who’s never afraid to write even when tears are rolling down her eyes. Even when no one will ever read what she writes, she’ll still write will her heart. She was brave and so real, even when she felt she was not enough for the people she loved.
I admire the girl that I was. And I am trying to bring back a part of her to who I am now—because I am not getting any younger, and I know that to enjoy now is to feel and think young, to do what keeps you alive. To feel life again.
To be raw and honest and just be my authentic self. To finally acknowledge the pain, grief, and overall life challenges that we wanted to ignore but it’s right there staring back at us, and to just deal with it every single day because that’s what life is.
It has been years since I stopped personal writing, and I feel like it’s time for me to go back to my core.
What am I waiting for, anyways? Sometimes I ask myself, when will I ever be ready to pour my heart again into writing? To let it all out and don’t give a damn about what others think in this crazy world? Life still goes on, girl.
Writing is something that, I know, will never be taken away from me. It can take a step back for a while, but it will always be there, waiting. For the right moment when stories are ready to be shared. When the writer is ready to pull words once again and share a part of her world.
This woman has always been flawed, thinks she has got everything figured out but never really admits she is usually lost. She still feels waves of pain, but she’s moving forward albeit the odds.
This is me wanting to feel alive again through writing in a deeper, more personal sense. I hope this is a good start and keep this consistent. Wish me luck!
