Return to Writing

      Ellie had once been a writer. She had begun writing fiction at a very young age, almost from the time she could form letters. In the second grade, she had written a series of stories about a group of unicorns who were named for gems. She had drawn pictures and given each story to her mother, proud of each set of two pages that made up the stories. In the third grade, she had ambitiously decided to write a novel about fairies. The plot and the characters were horribly childish, but it was well written and she was proud of her dedication to the writing process, even many years later.

           Then in high school, she had written another short novel. And again in college. She might have studied literature or creative writing, but when she was thirteen, her mother had told her, “Choose something more stable, Ellie. You can’t rely on your writing to make a living. So few people have their dreams come true in that way.” And while the romantic, idealistic part of Ellie still wanted to become a writer, the realistic part of her knew her mother was right.

           In addition to her love of writing, she also had a love of helping others find meaning in their lives. So Ellie chose to study occupational therapy. She continued to write in her free time, which was becoming less and less. Classes were busy. She had a lot of homework in the evenings. She wanted to spend time with her friends. She got a boyfriend. She became a board member for many different clubs. All of the things in life were pulling Ellie in a million different directions, and writing just took a backseat.

           After graduation, Ellie passed her boards examination. She applied for and received her license. She found a position in early intervention and began practicing. She loved the children she worked with fiercely, and dedicated herself to helping them achieve their full potential in life. She always told herself she would get back to writing eventually. She told herself her work as an occupational therapist would inspire wonderful writing.

           Ellie moved to a new city with her boyfriend, the very same one from college. They built a life together. They got engaged, and then married. Ellie kept working hard as an occupational therapist, and always told herself she would get back to writing someday, when she had a little more time.

           Ellie became a mother. She had a beautiful son, and then two years later, a beautiful daughter. She got caught up in their lives, even more than she had gotten caught up in her own. After work, she drove them to piano lessons and soccer practices and ballet classes and school functions, and repeated it all the next week. She cooked dinner and helped them with homework and gave them baths and told them stories she made up on the spot and tucked them in with a hug and a kiss. She always told herself she would get back to writing someday, when the kids were a little older, when she had a little more time. She told herself motherhood would inspire wonderful writing.

           The thing was, Ellie told herself that she would get back to it when there was more time, but there would never be more time. There would always be exactly twenty-four hours in a day and seven days in a week and far too many things to get done in that time. It was not about having enough time to do what she wanted, but about prioritizing the things that she wanted to do.

           It was not until her daughter, Laila, was in the third grade that Ellie finally sat down and put pen to paper again. Laila’s teacher had given a creative writing assignment. Laila wrote about fairies and unicorns and was so enamored with her own storytelling ability that she kept on writing in her free time. Ellie saw so much of herself in her daughter. She marveled at the stories Laila wrote. The plots and the characters were horribly childish, but the stories were well written. Ellie praised every story that her daughter painstakingly wrote.

           One day, upon being praised, Laila said, “Mommy, you know how to make up good stories, too. You should write them down. Then we can all read them over and over.”

           Ellie had spent many years with too many commitments. But when her children asked her for something, it always became a priority. She decided to take her daughter’s advice and begin writing again. It indeed began as a way to create more bedtime stories for her children. But Ellie’s passion for writing was reignited, and she began to write for herself as well. She wrote about all of the things she had told herself for years would inspire great writing. She wrote about being an occupational therapist, drawing on her experiences with hundreds of children over many years. She wrote about motherhood, and how its mundanity could be both exhilarating and exhausting.

           A strange thing happened after Ellie began writing again. While she had always been very happy with her life and the choices that she had made, she found that returning to writing completed her in a way that nothing else quite did. Writing had always been a part of her, and now that she had returned to it, Ellie knew that she could never stop again. 

Years later, Laila told Ellie that she wanted to study creative writing in college. Ellie recalled her own mother's advice when she had shared the same desire, so many years ago. Ellie knew that it was more practical for her daughter to study something else, and that she might even love something else. After all, Ellie loved occupational therapy. She knew that it might be hard for Laila to support herself with writing. But she also knew that, like her, Laila was complete when she was writing. So she gave herself the best advice a mother can give: Do what you love.