Search:
Julia T. Williams | My Life Monday – I Need To Find Me Again
Julia T. Williams is a storyteller on a mission to help better lives through storytelling. She writes about all the things that go wrong and how people fight to make them right. Telling stories that matter while helping others cultivate theirs.
soul, storytelling, stories that matter, storyteller on a mission, stories to better lives,
353
post-template-default,single,single-post,postid-353,single-format-standard,edgt-core-1.2,woocommerce-no-js,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,hudson-ver-2.2, vertical_menu_with_scroll,smooth_scroll,woocommerce_installed,blog_installed,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-6.0.2,vc_responsive

My Life Monday – I Need To Find Me Again

At the beginning of last year, I finally completed my first novel. It was seven years in the making. Thought I had finished it back in 2002, but quickly realized I had a long way to go. From that point on, I put it aside and picked it back up only to start all over from scratch. Every time, it got better and better. My characters grew; changed their names. The title changed several times. But most importantly, I grew as a writer. I grew up right along with Fatima and Cory.

As happy as I was to say that I had written my first novel, I think I lost a part of me in that process.

Before then, I was writing like there was no tomorrow. I would set daily word counts. I would not only meet them, I would double the count sometimes triple. I was writing poetry like the words were etched into my fingerprints. During breaks from work, I would write. Always kept some form of paper with me to capture my thoughts. I ate, slept, and dreamt of words. It was my passion.

In retrospect, I think I had put so much into my novel, so much blood, sweat, tears…so much of me, so much of my creativity that I forgot to be me.

I was disciplined. I called Comcast and had them disconnect my internet services. I cut the television off. I consumed myself with reading and writing. When my manfriend would come over, instead of entertaining him, I shut myself up in my room, cut off all lights except my red light, lit some incense, cut on my music, and stepped into the realm I called home.

I felt at peace there. I connected with my characters. I felt what they felt. I lived the lives they lived. I hurt when they hurt. I was pissed when they were pissed. I was them and they were me.

Once I was done writing their stories, I guess a part of me forgot what my life was like. I was so consumed with getting started on my second novel, getting some articles under my belt. Seeing what my creativity could create next. I searched the web, the bookstores, the library…everywhere for material on writing and obtaining an agent. That’s all I talked and thought about. I just knew things were going to start happening. But when they didn’t, I subconsciously found my way into a funk.

I was so caught up in getting these stories out of me that I forgot how to be me.

My funk has lasted over a year. Even in this period of “funkness” I have still managed to depress myself from a lack of not writing to the point that I haven’t truly enjoyed and rewarded myself for actually seeing something through completion. Yeah, I bought myself a new car. Graduated and received my esthetics license. I have been traveling. Going to concerts. Meeting new people. It appears as though I am living the life.

Unfortunately, I have not been living the life because a part of me is absent. The part of me that knows I should be writing. Doing what God put me on this Earth to do. I feel like I am being pulled in so many directions that I don’t know which tug to go to.

I need to find me again. I need to find my sunshine. Find my happiness again. I need to find the me that I lost inside of me.

This is Jewells signing out…

0 Comments
Share Post
No Comments

What say you?

%d bloggers like this: