I have lived for a long time with the belief that no one wants to hear what I have to say.
In high school and college, I squashed my childhood dream of becoming a writer in favor of something more practical, something that felt less vulnerable than putting my own words into the world (ironically, helping *other people* become better writers).
It took years of fear—of rejection, of embarrassment—and years of watching other people lean into their own callings before I realized writing is still my passion. It didn’t just go away because I shoved it to the back burner. I had been quietly composing snippets of poems and essays in my head for years without ever committing them to paper.
The only problem was: I still didn’t think anyone would care about my ideas. My life is relatively ordinary. I have not had a lot of wild or remarkable experiences as a stay-at-home mom to three young kids.
One day in a quiet coffee shop, a friend challenged me to try anyway (as if that simple advice would wipe away all my concerns). She told me to write what I know, that hundreds of thousands of mothers can relate to the mundane and yet heart-wrenching rhythms of temper tantrums and potty training.
I don’t know why I obeyed her advice. Maybe the parts of me that find joy and beauty in elegant words were just waiting for her encouragement. What I do know is that I began to see my life as valuable, and I learned to draw inspiration from it.
I wrote an essay that very day about questioning my purpose as a mother. The words flowed freely, like I had opened a dam and released everything inside me that had been waiting to come out. That story was a symbol of my new lease on life: it’s never too late to pursue something you enjoy (and even be good at it).
It was summarily rejected from the first place I submitted it.
I want to tell you I breezed past that rejection, that I leaped over that hurdle in my writing journey, a hurdle every single writer *ever* has experienced before me, and just kept on running. But oh, it was very tempting to surrender to the mean monster in my head, the voice that sounds just like mine but speaks lies of worthlessness.
The truth is, I’ve been rejected a dozen times since then—and I grow in resilience and perseverance each time. I’m learning to see each rejection as encouragement to try again.
I’ve also been accepted, in particular by a wonderful group of writers and mamas at Kindred Mom. They published several of my essays and then—be still my heart—asked me to join their team! Initially I felt like an imposter, like maybe they had mistaken me for someone else.
Imagine my even greater surprise when they asked me to leap into a huge project with them—publishing a book.
My words, the words I was so afraid to share two years ago, are in a book, along with honest, funny, and uplifting stories from eight other women. Quite appropriately, the book is about being brave, pursuing strength and beauty in the everyday experiences of motherhood. It is an act of utmost courage and hope to bind these stories together and send them into the world.
As I wait now to see what will become of Strong, Brave & Beautiful, I feel almost like I’m back at the beginning. I couldn’t have known where my words would land when I first gathered the nerve to plunk out a few sentences on my laptop. But I put my whole heart into the effort, and no matter what comes out of it now or in the future, I will be glad that I tried.
This guest post is by writer Melissa Hogarty you can connect with her at : www.kindredmom.com and learn more about the Strong, Brave, and Beautiful book here.
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