i think i am, i think i am

We were sitting at a table of strangers at a friends dinner reception. They were going around the table asking everyone what it was that they did. My heart was racing. What was I going to say? Though I spend my days at home as a mother, I had made a decision a few weeks before that 1.) I was never going to say “I am just a stay at home mom” and 2.) that “mother of a wiggle child” was not all that I was and all that I did. I am still an individual and a wife and a friend and a sister and so much more.

Then it came to me. “And what do you do?”

I sheepishly pointed to the child who was trying desperately to reach the salad in front of us. Then they asked “What else?” in a purely curious way. So I said it:

“I am a writer.”

AHHHHH!

Who was I kidding? I felt panicky but I stuck to what I said. I told of my love of writing and that I wrote for a couple of blogs when I could and that I was working hard on improving. They kept asking questions and I felt like a fraud. I felt like I had lied.

I was no writer. I liked to write out what I thought and felt and experienced but I was no writer. There were so many ways I needed to improve and things I needed to do before I could have that title bestowed on me.

Afterwards I told Billy about how silly I felt about it all but how I knew that I needed to have more courage. He didn’t even say anything. I was working through it all on my own.

Who but me could decide what I was?

If I love to write and continue to write, then why not say that is what I am?

There is no need to be scared. No one ever said that to be something, you have to be it perfectly. You just have to keep trying and keep improving. There may be no one else in the world outside of me and my husband that considers me a writer. But I don’t care.

I am a writer.

I am a writer.

I am a writer.

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