The trouble with writing is writing itself. It’s a push and pull with words that carry weight in our daily lives. They carry weight for the reader, the writer, and the writer’s ego (if they find themselves receiving more rejection letters from literary journals than acceptances). It’s extremely subjective, and sometimes that’s the trouble too.
Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve expressed myself through writing. I used to keep a box at the top of my closet that held letters I never intended to deliver. Each page was a confession of how I was feeling in that particular moment, and why I couldn’t bare to express those words verbally. It was a way for me to be completely honest with myself and not have to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings, or putting myself in a vulnerable position that I would have to deal with afterward.