This morning is the first that I’ve actually realized that I can call myself a writer. I’m no longer employed at ASU, my disability has been approved and I have a year to work on myself. To get to the point where I can manage my pain so I can relearn to function on a daily basis, support my family, do my part. But this morning it just hit me – I can write. I’m a writer. I can finish my novel, work on getting an agent, see if I can get published. I don’t have anything standing in my way except myself. And I realize that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for so many months – standing in my own way.
Yes, I have issues with pain, and I can’t sit for long periods of time, and typing makes my fingers cramp up and burn. But nothing says I can’t take a lot of breaks, do some yoga stretches, drink some tea, lie down for a bit – and then go back to it. It may take me longer than I’d prefer, but it doesn’t mean I can’t do it. I just need to try. I can get a tape recorder and record what I want to write if I’m in too much pain. I can do this – I’m a writer.
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