I have always loved writing. I was the little girl in class who enjoyed making every loop and swerve in cursive class. I was excited when I had a book report or any report to spin into a story. Any chance to write stories made my heart leap with joy.
Fast forward to middle school, junior high and high school I had deep, dark depression. Life blew up in a lot of different ways. Journaling was right there with me helping me sort out life. It was the one thing that remained consistent and safe in my life. It was the best friend I could tell all of my secrets.
While I loved to write, I was always the student who needed extra time for my brain to understand what was being taught. I was smart, capable and willing, but by the time I began grasping a concept, my class was already moving on to the next one.
I was the student who frustrated my teachers because I still did not understand after the third time of being taught. Many teachers did not know how to reach me, I was often yelled at, shamed and laughed at by classmates. The combination of feeling lost, yelled at by teachers and laughed at by my peers has been painful to work through. I still feel panic when in similar situations. It has taken me thirty-six years to embrace the way I learn. This winter will mark eight years of blogging.
While I can tell an amazing story, grammar is a whole different story. I cannot tell you how many tears I have shed as I tried to force myself to understand the different writing rules. I began to slowly comb through my old posts. As I did I was able to see where I had put a there instead of a their. Where I had to change an to a and vise versa.
I still am not a perfect grammar natzi and I never will be. I celebrate each and every post that is published. I do it because Each and every one is an act of bravery. One because I am putting my heart out there and two because I know there are mistakes.
I see memes on social media about grammar correctness and it use to break my heart when I saw the comments. Comments such as I just don’t know why they don’t know the difference, it drove me bonkers. I wanted to shout, “don’t you know how far I’ve come.” I wanted to swear and stomp my foot at adults mocking me without knowing it as my peers had done. It was reliving the pain of my childhood all over again. I was a little girl again sitting at my desk with the teacher yelling at me, the students laughing and my eyes crying without tears, because I would not show how much they wounded me.
Now thirty-six years, eight years into blogging I don’t care. I see the memes and I heart for the ones who have not been told to keep writing even if your grammar is not perfect. Keep writing because it makes you happy. Keep writing because the world needs to learn of your pain and begin to show compassion. Keep writing and letting yourself process.
Thankfully I have had gentle mentors. Ones who tell me what my teachers didn’t, keep writing and don’t give up. I have friends in my life who are gentle editors and help me to keep going.
Their may be times I still do not know we’re I am going in my grammar journey, but I’m not worried, because I will get there. Today is a good day to write.