“Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions” – Albert Einstein
I began blogging as a young(er), frightened, troubled single mum. It was a way to journal, and channel out some of that residual angst that some of us tend to carry beyond our adolescence. It helped me once, to write sad stories and anguished semi-poetic essays about the absence of love, the grief and pain from losing my family, the toxicity of desiring toxic relationships, and living with those pesky demons that tell you that you are not, and will never be good enough.
A few years ago, on a Sunday morning at 11.30 am after what I naively thought was an uncomfortable, sleepless night of food poisoning, I called my cousin Liz for advice. She suggested I go to hospital for a check-up. I was a call centre operative earning something that cannot be described as minimum wage living in a low income flat shared with my sister (R.I.P). Motherhood saved my life. I have endured many seasons: the stigma, the stereotypes, the failures, the successes, the sleepless nights, the inexplicable joys, the constant fear...but we have never lacked for anything, my baby and I.
The only thing that truly feels like home for me is storytelling, or being involved in some form of storytelling. And so the dream for me is the hope that the demons, those voices that try to say no, will continue to be drowned out by the light I have discovered within me. Negativity is a normal human condition, but I am learning now to shift my focus from dark to light, and I have to say, the view is so much better. Still a work in progress, but the possibility of stories that make people in distance places feel something…feel anything, is bigger than the fear of failing.