Writing is something I can always speak about with passion.
Why?
Because it might have saved my life. If not my life, then definitely my sanity.
I grew up with a mother who read to me from a ridiculously young age. I was fascinated by words and learned to read well before I even started school. So much so that my teacher allowed me to help other kids in my class as they were learning to read.
Once I was able to write in a way that was readable, I began to write my own stories in felt tip pens, using an imagination that had been nurtured by Enid Blyton novels such as The Faraway Tree and her magical short story collections.
However, when I was around six, my dad got very ill. I was too young to fully understand what it meant, but he died when I was eight years old, and... from then on, I was forced to grow up very quickly. Dealing with grief at such a young age robbed me of the childhood belief that life is long and full of goodness.
And so I withdrew emotionally. On the surface, I was just the same as I'd always been. Went out and played with friends and had fun, but inside, something was inherently different. And that is where the writing part comes in.
I found my solace in music and writing. I didn't write about my feelings. Instead, I dug deep into my imagination and wrote about worlds where life WAS long and full of goodness. I wrote about talking animals and wonderful lands where people were kind and happy.
Then, when I felt okay again, writing took a back seat.
Until I was fourteen. When I woke up one day and just felt... bleak. Like the shutters had come down over my eyes and everything looked dark.
There's no way to know why it was then, what about that one seemingly normal day that triggered this epic outpouring of grief that took over, but it did. It enshrouded me in the sadness I thought I'd processed but had really only masked.
I'd written to escape, but not to process.
It took a long course of counselling to get me to use my writing in a way that would help me. And although I still didn't write about bereavement, I DID start writing with emotion. I searched inside myself and used the feelings I'd squashed to write stories that would make people FEEL. Because I realised that pretending not to feel was how I ended up in such a mess.
Why am I sharing this? Because, actually, it's something I've only just understood about myself. That feeling your feelings is not only okay but absolutely necessary to make life worthwhile. Even the bad feelings.
I write to feel. To make other people feel. Sometimes, the only feeling is a little swoon over a cheesy romance, and sometimes it's a deep examination of how we treat ourselves and each other.
But overall, my mission is for my stories to leave you with a feeling that what you just read mattered. Maybe even made a difference.
My name is Kyra, and I am an emotion-a-holic. ❤️
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