Writing as my path...

It sounds arrogant to say...my writing is my path. But that is how I feel. When I don't have anything left to give, I can always give my words. I feel this is what I am supposed to do with my life...other than helping my kids. I like waking up in the morning and knowing what gives meaning. Okay most days I don't know. Many days I am lost and depressed and cannot find my way. But my heart and gut tell me where to go and lead me back to...this path.

It is so easy to get caught up in nonsensical things. I do have pride and ego and all of that. Part of me wants to make my mark...to be known somehow. Yet I have no desire to become the disease of the month poster person or an "expert" or a health site diva. I have purposefully made this blog personal and intimate and not on google. I...have no wish for having the best ranked blog on google or some such thing. These seem to be so many people's aspirations. I feel stupid at times because I don't want the normal things.

What I want so desperately is to be on my path...whatever that means. So I am searching my soul for what things I do want to say. I am searching for meaning. I am searching for ways to make a difference which do not kill me. I want to feel at peace. There is a delicate balance between peacefulness and passions. I feel in my case I am always out of line.

I have a calling to write about my childhood...and about my mother who has schizophrenia. I haven't had much courage to write about this topic very much. My mother is growing old. I fear that she will die soon. I don't know that for a fact but there is something in me which cries out for...some peace. I want to write about the experience of living with her so that someone else who may going through it will know they are not alone. I want to give back. And I want to honor my mother in the process.

I feel very vulnerable...but...I think that is just part of the path.

I began writing today and it was such synchronicity...I was writing about how I still feel such love for my mother despite all the hell she had caused me growing up. And right in the middle of writing my piece...a get an email from a friend that his mother had just died early this morning. Coincidence yes...but a meaningful one. I have to write about...this.

So here is my small and humble piece about living with my mother and you can find it here.

I would be more than honored if you could come by and read and share any thoughts.

Thank you.