Writing through fear

My mom wondered why I had such a hard time writing. And if I did, perhaps that was a sign that I was not meant to be a writer. She questioned if I feared success as much as I feared failure.

I am not sure. Stories that are so clear in my mind refuse to walk themselves on to the paper.

Being a writer is not a choice. This passion consumes me. A part of my identity as much as having lost my mother is. Once again Mother has to inert herself into everything.

Struggling to find my new normal.

Defined by being a mom, a writer, motherless

Wonder what would happen if when I lose my dad. Will it be as resolved as it is has been with my mom.

Other than asking her where to deposit 1B’s rent check, don’t have anything unsaid. But I still have another parent to recall specific memories.

But with my dad…I know he loves me and vice versa. I may not be the complete daughter doter he would have preferred.

It’s a product of my parents. How each would criticize the other. Trained the kids to parrot their positions, thoughts, soliloquies.

Dad disapproving of Mom taking us to see Dirty Dancing in the theater. Dad criticizing Mpm/ And Mom saying Dad should be shamed by returning a video camera.


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