I’m so on fire about my memoir project. It’s a big one–wanting to write a series of from 5 to 8 books tracking God’s amazing gift to me of my life story, now that I can see it through His compassionate eyes.
This morning, when I started, though, I couldn’t get past a block, past feeling frozen, so I stopped trying and started writing in a cheap notebook in scribbly handwriting ABOUT being so shut down.
I just described the facts of the moment–what I had done so far (looked at some old files), how frustrated and overwhelmed it made me feel to see how long I have been writing ABOUT writing my life story. I found myself addressing the reality that when I freeze up it is because I won’t own the truth that writing JUST FOR MY SAKE, JUST FOR MY BENEFIT is enough of a reason to do it.
I began to see clearly how far and wide and especially DEEP the belief goes in me that I don’t feel like doing anything unless I’m helping (inspiring) other people. My life is only important if I”m doing something for others. If I’m only serving others. Serving myself is not worth the effort.
And then deeper truth (beliefs) began to pour out:
I’m not worth the effort.
I’m not worth doing this for.
I’m not worth saving.
I don’t want to save just me.
If it will help someone else, I’ll get excited about the project, and stay excited as long as I get frequent positive feedback.
Then, I saw this sentence come out on the paper–cheap and scribbly paper: My story is not worth caring about.
Suddenly something inside me stirred–I mean like “Here There Be Dragons” stirred. Wait just a darn minute!
It came roaring up from inside, breathing fire!
EVERYONE’S STORY–WITHOUT EXCEPTION–IN WORTH CARING ABOUT.
Everyone’s story is worth
I am going to do THAT–remember, record, and reflect on my life story, increment by increment as honestly and sincerely as I can.
My life story deserves it.
I deserve it.
And then I saw even deeper and realized that I had just gotten past a huge, horizon-to-horizon lie that I have harbored in me since I first learned to make words and found no one to talk to who had time to listen.
I was so full of words back then. I was always talking or even singing–making up words to familiar tunes.
Forever the lyricist! The Fire Breathing Lyricist!
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