Back in college I remember writing and sharing my first ever poem in a poetry group chat, I was ridiculed for it, and decided through that moment that maybe I was destined not to be a writer. For years I turned my back on my love of words. For years I let the fear hold me back that I would never be good enough. In my early thirties that all changed. Grief brought me back into words for soothing. Now that I am in my forties, while I still don’t know if I am good enough, I realize that I don’t care if others like my work. I hope they do, but if not, I will share it anyway as I now write for me. The courage to move forward into what feels right can come from unexpected events, like for me – it was my grief.
