Over the past year, during lockdown and staying home, I had plenty of time on my hands. I watched every show imaginable. Streamed every movie. I slept. I drank a lot of wine. I took a free online class to learn about Hinduism. But what I didn’t do was write. The amount of times I blogged was pretty miniscule in comparison to what I’ve done in the past. So much of my energy was just spent trying to make it through the day. Throwing myself into work to keep my mind occupied. Spending time with my parents (which was great).
None of that energy went to writing though and I’ve missed it. I’m working on a small project for a friend right now talking about what the ADA means to me and I’d forgotten how much I loved just getting something down on paper (aka a Word document on my computer). My blog feels a little narcissistic sometimes, and during COVID I really didn’t have much to say other than to complain about how so few people were taking it seriously, but being able to write for other avenues, even if it still involves talking about myself, was such a refreshing reminder. I used to love to write pieces for Tiny Buddha or the MDA Magazine/blog. It gave me so much joy to tell my story and connect with other people who were feeling the same way or had the same experiences.
I’ve considered myself an editor and a proofreader for a lot of my life, but I’ve always had a hard time saying I’m a writer. Because I’ve never published a book or because I just keep a blog, I don’t think I’ve ever allowed myself to consider myself as a writer. I also don’t always believe in my writing skills. I know I’m a good editor and a good proofreader, but I’ve always been afraid to say “I’m a writer, and I’m a good one”, despite being told I am.
But, here I am, June 2021 and I find myself being able to say I am a writer. I may just blog or write autobiographical pieces for things, but I hope that in some way those still make an impact. That some little girl or boy is out there feeling alone and isolated because they don’t know anyone who looks like them or has their struggles and they find stories like mine and don’t feel so alone anymore.
Maybe I’ll never be a published author (the idea of writing a full book makes my anxiety go into overdrive) but that doesn’t mean I’m any less entitled to call myself a writer. Writing serves all kinds of different purposes. It certainly brings me a lot of joy so I hope that going forward I’ll be able to pick it up again like I used to, whether it be here or for other miscellaneous projects. And I hope that by endlessly telling my story, someone else will feel seen, heard, and understood like I have from reading the stories of other with disabilities just like me.