Communication with yourself is essential. I was just pondering the fact that I’m a writer even though it seems I post an essay sometimes less than once a month. Obviously I don’t make any money like my blog friend Caralyn does who inspires me to no end. I’m not comparing myself to her. I’m merely celebrating our mutual victory over mental illness. I’ve written about this a plethora of times, but a youth pastor we used to partner with said, and I quote, “Comparison is the enemy of contentment.” From the moment I heard him say that I have adopted it as “Scripture.” I still marvel at the lessons learned those four years we worked with that student ministry. We were with that church (Woodmont Hills Church of Christ) for ten years, and like every other church I’ve been associated with the experience will go into eternity with me.

I digress. My train of thought was in my identity as a writer. There are so many things that can define a single person, but what we do is what ultimately defines us. If I allow the teachings and actions of Christ to govern my thinking and behavior than I am a Christian. If I write even less than once a month I am a writer. You might disagree, and you might disagree more strongly if I tell you I’ve never been paid to be a writer, but is monetary compensation a denominator for being defined as something?

Identity is a strong word that carries weight our entire lives. Reprogramming becomes necessary constantly because the lies of evil are relentless from birth to death. Forgiving myself for not writing is something I have to practice, yet in the same breath that seems to be overthinking something that is not necessary. No one is depending on me to write, but the sheer joy I get from crafting words on a blank screen renders me speechless. I would still write even if I only posted one essay a year. Obviously I do more than that, and it seems the more melodrama my life goes through the more I write, but I’d love to create a consistent discipline to write minus drama.

I think another common denominator in my writing life is the amount I read on a regular basis. The more I read, it seems, the more I write. And when I’m not reading I have less to write.

Writing is so therapeutic, and not to write, for me, is a form of self-punishment. The self-discipline to write overshadows self-punishment, and I no doubt could write the same thing about my Spanish studies as that is one aspect of what drove me to write today.

Thank you dear ones for being my “psychologists,” and I feel another essay coming for tomorrow. Until then grace and peace dear ones.