I was 19 cocky and going to be a pharmacist. My college writing TA was convinced otherwise. At the end of the semester, she left me with I'll get you in my creative writing class no matter what. Cue depression, self reflection, and trying on every major for size that comes with college. Sleeping through science classes; my eyes were opening to amazing women who changed and challenged the world with only their words.

Remembering my TA's words, I dropped journalism and tried to sign up for creative writing. Of course the week before the semester started, it was full. I emailed my former TA, she happily signed the requisite papers for the formerly, cocky pharmacy major. I can still feel the elation of my story being read aloud in class and discussed. People actually liked what I had written. Writing was beyond selfish. To think that my thoughts were important enough for others to read, and discuss was beyond preposterous to me.

I graduated. I quit grad school before I started. My heart wasn't in it. I was a writer. I wrote a novel. I had no idea what to do with it but I wrote a novel.

Then life came at me full force. My heart was broken. And I fell in love again. I got married. I had babies. I got divorced. I was a single mom. I found love again.

Suddenly I was 38 on the cusp on 39 and forgot that girl who wrote a novel. Who would pour her soul onto the paper.

I began chatting with my husband's cousin. An artist. Someone who makes a living selling his art. Someone who never sold out. He pushed. He prodded. He read my old work. He became insistent. I finally began to write daily just to shut him up. I filled his inbox with my daily rants, poems, musings. Soon that was not enough. What are you going to do with your words, was the next refrain.

The search was on. I stumbled upon Prose. I found an outlet for that former 22 year old idealistic girl who knew what she wanted out of life and dove in head first. I realized I can take time for myself. My kids, my husband, and my job all survive. I've found people who give critical feedback and who challenges the author inside. I've also found a way to silence that inner critic who whispers into my ear you'll never be good enough.

But most importantly, even though I have posted some really dark writing, I've found my happiness. I can write my thoughts and some days they soar and others they flop but I'm true to myself.