My Relationship With Writing: Rediscovering a Part of Me I Thought I’d Lost

By Mandy Howard, https://mandyphoward.com

Over the last several years, I’ve become accustomed to grief.

The end of a marriage. The heartbreaking decision to say goodbye to a beloved pet. The diagnosis of a dear friend. The elimination of an entire department at work.

These moments, though hard, are punctuated and poignant. Whether or not people say the right thing, there is language for them. Often accompanied by cards or casseroles, these moments announce themselves.

Your grief makes sense. 

Other times, you wake up to find yourself heartsick but don’t really know why. While you were underwater, other things slipped away.

A dusty piano and arthritic fingers. The yarn and needles sitting in the donation pile. The journal beneath the stack of books on your bedstand. The dear friend whose laugh you can still hear but whose kids’ names you do not know.

These are the losses that silently slip between your fingers. A day turns into a month. Priorities shift, and paradigms realign.

I didn’t know I grieved writing until I came back to the page.

There was a time when freelance writing wasn’t just about the money; it was my opportunity to explore the world. It was my chance to show my curiosity and courage. Every single assignment was permission to meet new people and learn new things. I found it so inspiring to speak with people who were chasing their dreams.

Even as I write that line, I am still sad for the girl who never allowed that to click in her brain.

When I interviewed people who followed their dreams, I cried. Every. Single. Time. And when the interview stopped, and the story was written, I put that Mandy away.

Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, I stopped pitching stories, I stopped jotting down titles and opening lines on receipts and napkins, I stopped feeling inspired. I blamed it on time, but I think the truth is a little bit deeper and a little bit darker.

Survival has a way of forcing us to live smaller. Maybe it’s an important coping mechanism. If we don’t see the bigness of our dreams, it’s easy to shrink into the person we feel we need to become. I didn’t need to write. I needed to focus on my sensible job, the one with benefits.

But then I was blessed with hardship, and my hand was forced.

Several months ago, I came back to writing like a boy approaching his Giving Tree. I needed something, so I went to a familiar spot, reintroduced myself, and asked for the leaves I knew a specific publication would provide.

It was easy and selfish, and I didn’t let myself linger.

I was on a mission to make just a little bit more money. I knew writing could help, so I took it.

But as the stories flowed and I fell easily back into the joy of conducting interviews, I realized that I had let something go that had meant so much more than writing.

I had let go of the camaraderie of writers, of you, of TAF, the people who feel compelled to create, to craft. Writers are the people who feel called to build worlds and nurture words, and it makes us different. I missed you.

I had let go of the agonizing therapy of the blank page, of staring and knowing there is something great just waiting to be there if I could only allow my fingers to dance freely on the keyboard.

I had let go of the thrill of an editor’s “yes,” of the byline, and of the unexpected compliment from someone who was touched by the words you put on a page.

I came back to writing because I needed something from it, and in return it reminded me that ours was not a transaction; it was a relationship. And while my trust and faith in some relationships may still need healing, the page will always be there for me.

I reached out to Don Vaughan, one of my first and most impactful writing mentors. I rejoined TAF, and I started sending out pitches.

I even made the laughable rookie mistake of checking my email 10 times the same day after I sent that first pitch, just in case there was an immediate “yes” sitting in my inbox.

There was not.

Of course, the struggle is still there. The imposter syndrome is no joke. The blank page is still the most terrifying sight. And I have absolutely no idea where this journey will take me. But I do know that something has shifted.

I came back to writing because I needed the money it could potentially bring me. Instead, writing reminded me that it had been faithfully waiting for me all along.

Some losses are sudden and permanent.

Some are just waiting for you to have the courage to come back to them.

Mandy Howard is a freelance writer and journalist whose work has appeared in Military Officer, Carolina Parent, Cary Magazine, Midtown Magazine, Redbook, and numerous other regional and national outlets. She is also a professional speaker and educator and has been a featured speaker and panelist at conferences, industry meetings, and retreats. A native of Toledo, Ohio, Mandy graduated from the University of South Carolina with a degree in Sport and Entertainment Management.