An Author is Born
Aight so, boom, check me out!
I’m in shock right now. I published a story to Kindle Vella and I’m shook, bitch! So maybe you're thinking why is this a big deal, you have a whole ass blog, clearly writing is your thing. And for that we have to go back a ways to my childhood, so strap yourselves in. So when I was a toddler, according to my mom, I showed an abnormal proficiency in intellect. That was a strange way to say I was a smart baby, but we’re here now. So yeah I was a smart kid and I loved to learn, more than anything I loved to hear stories, especially stories of other people's lives. I loved to talk to people and pick their brains until I was satisfied with my newfound knowledge and satisfied with my excursions through their lived experiences. I was probably annoying as fuck, if we’re keeping it a buck.
In elementary I was an overachiever, not being a dick about it or feeling like I had to prove myself or anything, I just liked to learn shit. I learned things and went out for things simply because it interested me, which I feel is the best way to do it; it sparks joy and Marie Kondo would be proud. I had a great run, and it lasted ‘til about 5th grade. When I got to fifth grade I was severely bullied, everything I loved was bulldozed, my sense of self completely eroded. It was so traumatizing that I completely blocked out that time in my life. I legit have broken memories of that year, solely because my mom told me stories of how I was bullied and it triggered pieces of things I could recall. My brain deadass etch-a-sketched my ass. Shit got hectic and my body was like, nope! Cancel it’
I had negative self-esteem, straight deficits. I questioned everything and doubted myself passionately. I went from a nature-loving extrovert with a love for loudly expressing myself, to a shy introvert with a fervent need to protect myself. That protection came in the form of my silence. I vowed to never let anyone close enough to hurt me, if no one knew the real me, they couldn’t hurt me. Children, as perceptive as they may be, are dumb. See, adult me can see that thinking is total bullshit, but little kid me was trying their best to keep me safe with the amount of logic I was working with at the time. For a while it worked, no one could say they knew me, not even my parents.
I remember seeing this article about J.Lo that talked about how she would tell certain things to those around her, just crazy lies to see what leaked to the press. I’m doing this, she could know for sure who she could and could not trust, and I thought ‘this lady has the right idea’. I started using that same tactic with those around me to see which rumors spread the fastest family, friends, classmates, you name it, and I was great at crafting those stories. See, even though I stop using my voice publicly I never stopped being creative. I found solace in my words via diaries, poetry, and short stories I wrote. By the time I got to high school, I started to release the shackles of the protective prison I put myself in. I had finally come out to my parents and the need to protect myself and lie to throw people off my lesbo snail trail wasn’t necessary anymore. I was a free bitch!
I started sharing my poetry here and there in front of actual audiences, slowly feeling like little kid me again. However, the one thing that lingered after the bullying was the self-doubt. That shit there is an insidious little fucker that can suck the joy right out of your soul. And it did. That self-doubt manifested in me attracting people in my life that doubted me just as much or more than I did. The self-doubt becomes so imbedded in your spirit, that the people you attract reinforce what your internal voice is already saying to you, making you feel like your thoughts of self-doubt are true, thus making you doubt yourself even more. It’s a vicious cycle that keeps going and going chipping away at your spirit as it goes.
I would self-sabotage constantly, and formed the deepest bonds with people who saw little worth in me and treated me as such. By the time I reached my twenties, life had thoroughly lifed, and I was a fucking mess. Toxic relationships, drugs, alcohol, and an apathetic personality were my besties. Despite all of this, I still wrote stories. Keeping my imagination in better places than I currently was. I always thought they could be something one day, someday. My dream since I was a child, was to be a best-selling author and scientist, and despite the abysmal state my self-esteem was in, part of me still believed it; didn’t know when or how, but I believed. I kept writing and started working on a novel.
I felt so good about it, it gave me hope and was a welcomed escape from the abusive relationship I was in at the time. That one I was determined to publish, it would be the one that lifted me out of this dark place. Then one day the unspeakable happened. I opened my laptop searched for the file and it was gone. Over 65 thousand words, pushing 70 pages completely wiped from my laptop. To this day I don’t know if it was truly a computer glitch or if my ex deleted the only thing that she knew brought me joy at the time and I’ll never know. However, after that incident I stop writing. Remember most of my life to that point I spent crafting a personality to protect myself, I was built to avoid hurt. Yet here it was glaring in my face. I was shattered, eviscerated.
That brings me to today and with the support of my tribe, those beautifully genuine souls that truly want to see me win, my resolve to be the best version of myself and heal that broken little girl inside, and therapy (lots and lots of therapy), I’ve long-since resumed writing and can proudly proclaim that I’ve published something. It’s been a long time coming it’s the first of many stories and novels I will be publishing. Taking it one chapter at a time, sharing my art with the world is a major win for little Chandra. She’s shook, I’m shook, we’re shook boots!
I’m so grateful for every one that reads this blog and interacts with me here and on my socials. Every time someone tells me they've read my blog or loved a post, little Chandra smiles. Every time some one shares a post or a personal experience that my writing inspired, little Chandra smiles. When someone says I made them laugh, little Chandra smiles. All of these things reminds her that her words are beautiful, they’re worthy, they’re enough; she’s beautiful, she’s worthy, she’s enough. Y'all, don’t ever stop dreaming for the little you inside, no matter how shitty life gets. I’m an Author! I'm so happy I could die… but not anytime soon, I got lots more writing to do. 🙃
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