Why Do I Write?

Why do I write?

I often get asked this question.

Oh, no! Not by other people. I am no famous writer.

I get asked this question by myself. 

By a part of myself, to be precise.

Do you have parts to yourself?

Parts that question you, your dreams, your capabilities?

Parts that tell you what you can’t do and why?

And then, the parts that have the answers?

I have so many parts to myself that I often lose count.

Take this one, for example.

The part of me that’s forever critical.

It is never satisfied, no matter what I do.

“You’re not good enough. You never will be.” It tells me.

And I want to curl up in my bed and cry all day long.

“That’s nonsense!” Retorts another part.

This one is wiser, kinder, gentler.

It knows that I am human and forgives me my mistakes.

“You are capable of so much!” It says.

And I find hope again.

There’s a part of me that worries too much.

“What if?” is its favorite question.

“What if you fail? What if your dreams don’t come true?”

It thinks it must prepare me for the worst.

It is afraid of being hurt - like it has been in the past.

Even as I write this, a cynic in me is raising its voice.

“Wait a minute, wasn’t this supposed to be about why you write?

What are you doing, rambling on about nothing of value?”

I am dumbfounded. It is right. What am I doing?

My heart sinks a little.

Another part comes up to my rescue, however.

“Sometimes, you write because there is nothing else you can do.

It doesn’t matter what, it doesn’t matter whether it is any good.

What matters is that your heart’s content come rolling out.

As words, or as tears, or as both. Like they are doing now.”

Everyday, hundreds of times, I watch these parts fight with each other.

They are all me, I know. Or may be none of them is me.

May be I am more than all of them combined.

I know I have the power to choose which part to listen to.

But sometimes, it is really, really hard.

May be that’s why I write. Sometimes, at least.

The process of writing has the power to heal.

It gives a place for these voices to say all that they want to say.

Until they are tired and ready to let go.

After which I feel free to do what needs to be done.