I Remember

I remember when all my writing revolved around the trauma I was going through. I also remember when I used to write about my morning devotions and a word from the lord. Today, I jokingly call ChatGPT the lord because we seem to put so much stock into what it says when we ask it questions. I remember writing a poem to release all the pent-up emotions I had. Writing was a way for me to heal. Now that I am on the healing side, I would like to say I am completely healed, but I often find more wounds that have gone unnoticed or unchecked, so it’s still a journey of healing, but at this point, now that I am on this side, the good side of the journey, it seems as if writing is harder. Like, I don’t have as much to say. I feel like I have lost my voice. I stopped singing, I stopped writing. Not because I was silenced, but because I did not feel like I had anything to say. In the past, everything I said was a complaint or problem, and I was trying to find answers and solutions. Is this why the body —my body —has decided to give me something else to seek answers for? My gut, and it’s weird ass histamine intolerance? I think so. I also believe that I would much rather write instead of searching low-histamine meals and try to figure out if it is SIBO, MCAS, or low estrogen, which, by the way, is a thing. Like, can’t I go back to writing about problems and finding solutions? Uh, just as I typed that out, I realized I do not, under any circumstances, want to experience all the crap I have been through, and I definitely do not wish it on anyone else. 

I remember when I would sing songs, like “Thank You for the Valley,” because a valley was a hard time you go through that supposedly brings you closer to God. God. That’s a whole nuther subject. Like, who is he really?

So, maybe I have not lost my voice; perhaps it is just learning to speak in a new way.