So I did it.

I took the plunge, did what I’ve said forever I was going to do, and I started a blog. Cue angels and harps and fireworks and the X-Factor winner from three years ago to make the moment memorable.

Or not.

Some of the things we do, we just … do. We don’t know if it’s going to work out or not. We haven’t planned it, sketched it, spreadsheeted it into existence. We just get on and do it.

And this is one of those moments.

Even as a kid – while all that stuff was going on, although I was dissociative for it – I said I wanted to be a writer. I had no idea what writers did. I mean, I figured they knitted words together and somehow birthed books, but I had no concept whatsoever that writing is slog, that writing is hard, unthankful toil, and that verbal constipation in the face of a deadline is as close as anything to mental torture. I wish I could go back to the 12-year-old me and advise her that teaching would make a great career after all.

Writing lays you bare. You meld these words together and other people sit and pick them apart. And I don’t enjoy that. I want my words to help people, I’m astounded when they do, but mostly I forget that I’ve even written them. The rest of the time I’m intensely private and long for the perfect aloneness of out walking my dog by the sea. I forget that my words are on show.

I’m often ambivalent about writing, this great dream of mine. Mostly I have to pull myself away from eviscerating Amazon boxes, or descaling the kettle (twice this week already) in order to actually get any writing done. I am procrastination incarnate.

So this blog is for my benefit, not yours. If I put that out there right now, you can’t be disappointed, right? I’m just going to try to meld some words together every day, and let’s see what happens. Because I know that I’m supposed to be writing. I just need the terror of actually starting.

I don’t even know what I’m going to write about. There’s all sorts of stuff that churns around on the inside of me and I’m going to stirrup it somehow into sentences, and we’ll see where we go from there. If you’ve read anything I’ve written before, or you’ve heard me speak, you’ll know that I’m deeply passionate about a few things, recovery from suffering being the greatest. I hate stigma and silence and oppression and slavery and trauma and torture and pain and I want to see people live free and alive and hopeful and grateful and throbbing and pulsing with life. So that’s what I’m going to write about, somehow. Let’s see.

So no fanfares, no ticker-tape, no grand entrance. I’m just starting. That is all.