I am going through this asking stage right now. Who am I as a writer? What is my true writer’s voice? Am I fulfilling my soul’s calling to write my heart?
I feel this uncomfortable stirring in my belly and heart. A pushing. A pulling. Almost like a gnashing. The questions keeps coming up, what now? How can I be more clear, more raw, more honest in my writing? How can I push my comfort zone a little further.
How can I write what is in my heart in such a way as to make the most positive impact on my readers, my friends, my family, the world?
I don’t know. All I feel is a pang, a loneliness calling me into the cave of the unknown depths in my chest. It is like a cave. Right now, it hurts to walk inside there, to feel inside this space in my chest. Grief, sadness, excitement, gratitude, love, loneliness — all together like specks of dust in the wind — swirling around me — demanding that I go deeper.
But I don’t like feeling painful emotions. So I tell myself two things. First, it is okay that I don’t like it. Nobody does. Second, these feelings are good. Really good. They are nudging me into myself.
So I keep asking, who am I as a writer? Where is the authentic voice of my soul? And how can I channel that voice through my words?
What is next for me? What now? Where am I going?
I ask these questions in the dark, as I don’t know where the next turn of the cavern is taking me. So often, I just sit down in this darkness. I sit. I breathe. I wait.
Then, this restlessness, this ache, tells me to get off my ass and start walking into the darkness.