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When I started writing again, I was struggling with my relatively new role as a stay-at-home mom. This is a job that is completely fulfilling for some. It was not for me. I trudged through long days of diapers and food refusal, exhausted from interrupted sleep, without a thought about anything but the frightening responsibilities and challenges of being a mother. My life had become intellectually meaningless. Dead.

Then there was my past. Hadn’t it been put to rest? Struggling through boredom, dealing with the foibles of a toddler, I had no desire to wrestle with issues I thought were safely behind glass. Then the glass shattered. Pressure had been building; all it took was a light tap. “Remember me?” the past asked through sharpened, yellowed teeth as the shards fell and she poked her head through the hole she’d created.

I decided to subdue the past by writing the truth, framing it in my own words. On the good days, I transcend it all. I create meaning.

This is writing to survive.

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When I started writing again, I was struggling with my relatively new role as a stay-at-home mom. This is a job that is completely fulfilling for some. It was not for me. I trudged through long days of diapers and nap struggles, brittle from interrupted sleep and overwhelmed with the frightening responsibilities and challenges of being a new mother. Although I loved my family, my days were about housework and care-taking. I no longer had a intellectual life.

Then there was my past. Hadn’t it been put to rest? Struggling through boredom, dealing with the foibles of a toddler, I had no desire to wrestle with issues I thought were safely behind glass. Then the glass shattered. Pressure had been building; all it took was a light tap, a reminder of what was operating under the surface.

I decided to contain my past by writing the truth, framing it in my own words. On the good days, I transcend it all. I create meaning. In creating meaning, I achieve balance.

This is writing to survive.