Writing My Way Through

 

I’ve been deep in the process of writing a book lately. I didn’t set out with some polished plan or publishing dream, it just started with getting things out of my head and onto the page. Turns out, writing your own story is a lot harder than it sounds.

Some of what I’m writing about touches on the harder parts of motherhood, survival, chronic illness, identity, and the kind of love that teaches you things whether you’re ready or not. I’m not going into full detail here, that’s for the book, but I’ve been peeling back layers I didn’t know were still there. It’s been healing in some ways, stressful in others. Emotional, always.

It’s also a learning curve. There’s more to writing than just pouring your heart out. I’m figuring it out as I go, and it’s taught me just how much I’ve held in over the years. Writing it all down feels like taking inventory of things I’ve lived through and asking, "What do I want to carry forward?"

I don’t think I’ll be giving regular updates on the book. That feels like too much pressure. But I might share little pieces here and there - things that didn’t make it into the chapters but still deserve a place. Moments, thoughts, maybe even old journal scraps that I’ve carried with me.

So if you’re reading this, thanks for being here. Thanks for letting me be a little messy and unsure. This blog has always been a space for me to breathe out what I’ve been holding in. Writing a book is just a louder version of that, I guess.

Still writing. Still healing. Still learning. 

-H