Writing for me has many meanings. It’s selfish in that it’s my own therapy. And it’s selfless as I do hope my openness will somehow spark something in one who reads my words. I guess I feel I somehow have the ability to allow myself to be vulnerable through sharing, with the outcome to help. Somehow.

It started when my mom was ill. The meaning for my writing then was the same as it is now with my own health journey. And at that time, I felt compelled to share my mom’s story, as it was one of her last requests. She wanted her story told, so that others could learn from it. Always the educator. So that’s what I tried to do. And over the years I have received some extremely touching feedback from readers, who have shared their appreciation of my writing. In that somehow it made them feel a bit less alone, or that someone could relate, or it lit something within them. And knowing that my words have the ability to do such a thing, is such a gift. And that’s why I write. And invite you in to my deepest struggles.

A few weeks ago, a Facebook friend posted this except from a book by Yolo Akili. I had never heard of this writer before, but have since learned he focuses on health, gender issues, race and sexuality. http://yoloakili.com/ And I believe this excerpt is from his book Dear Universe: Letter of Affirmation and Empowerment For All Of Us. I think I should read this book.

A Message From The Universe

Remember: Your story can help save someone else’s life. Your silence contributes to someone else’s struggle. Speak so we all can be free. Love so we all can be liberated. The moment is now. We need you.

I am an open book, as they say. Read me.

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