write the words
I’ve heard many times to write about what you know, and while I think this is great sentiment and can make for a really great story, I also think it is also a trap that can keep us stuck. I like to write about what I know, because it feels easy and comfortable for me. I feel most at home writing about motherhood. Even when motherhood is hard, I know my kids. I know our life together, which means I know our stories. If I am paying attention to my children, I could write four stories out of one day. In all reality, I could potentially write four stories out of one interaction, depending on how I process it. Motherhood is messy, hard, chaotic, and sanctifying. It is also beautiful, rewarding, fulfilling, and amazing at the same time. A day in motherhood could easily be an entire book, filled with action and emotion. I am a mother, I know my motherhood, these are my stories, and only my stories to tell. If I don’t tell them, who will? That last sentence alone is enough to motivate me to continue to write about what I know.
But, what if I wrote about what I didn’t know? I think some of the best essays and books I’ve had the pleasure of reading came out of a place of processing. The author was walking through something, learning a lesson, coming in or out of a hard season and they felt the pull to write about it. Lucky for me as a reader they did not ignore that pull. We don’t know all of the things, all of the time. Dare I even say, we don’t know many things, any of the time. I believe a really beautiful part of life takes place in the unknown. It is in the unknown that we learn and grow.
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I have been keeping journals since I was in middle school, and while I know I would be thoroughly embarrassed to read probably 90 percent of them; I also know they are full of life. Those journals are filled with words of processing. Although I don’t plan on typing up and hitting publish on my middle and high school journals, I know those words matter. Writing about what I didn’t know, helped me realize what I did know. Writing about what I didn’t know, helped me find my place. I am who I am today, because I wrote about what I didn’t know. I am who I am today because I have read pages upon pages written by others about things they didn’t know.
I went through a really lonely season, where I felt very left out of friendships, and I didn’t know what to do. What helped me through that season most was a book I read that someone else wrote about going through the same thing, and having the same questions. Her willingness to write about something hard, and unknown, helped me feel less isolated.
When we went from homeschooling to sending our kids to a local charter school I struggled with contentment, anger, and identity. I did not know how to live a life that I felt like myself inside of because I had spent two years wrapping my identity up in something that God called our family away from. I was lost, with a capital L. Any guesses on what felt most comforting during that time? Outside of real-life community, it was the words of other women who struggled with feeling at home in their life at some point too. I will be forever grateful to their words and how they held my heart.
Do I think we need to publish every word we’ve ever written about what we don’t know for others to read? Probably not. Do I think we should still write them anyway? Absolutely.