Five-year-old me could be found during playtime, writing stories.

I believe I was destined to be a writer at a very young age.

God’s very gift to me was paper and pen.

Writing saved my life; it safely released the toxin inside of me.

At 34 years old, I’m never without a notebook.

Writing allows me to completely undress emotions and connect with the rawness often left unchecked.

When paper meets pen, I can feel the release of what’s on the inside, coming outside.

I remember filling notebooks to the brim with stories I never thought I would even tell.

Writing often feels like an ear pressed to the heart.

Writing allows me to pour out the very things childhood has made me endure.