Carolee has a minion!

Angel the Phor

When I was young, I endured a lot of bullying. I used to use creative writing as an outlet for my frustration. Later on, I became very good at writing, to the point that people around me encouraged me to publish my works. I agreed to the idea. Imagine me becoming a famous author; wouldn't that make all my former bullies regret treating me so poorly? It was a petty motivation to succeed, but it kept me going for a while. Then I got another reason to continue writing; to enact change.

Imagine if my published works could impact readers' lives--for the better! Imagine if I could persuade people to be kinder, to consider another point of view... to change their minds. I could use my hobby, once a tool used to vent anger and sorrow, to make people happy. Wouldn't that be glorious? Wouldn't that make the world a better place?

Then I hit some roadblocks.

I don't mean the standard writer's block that many artists encounter when doing their craft. I received some blows to my reasons for writing. The things I wanted most from my endeavors were swept out from under me for two reasons. The first: I lost confidence in my ability to change anyone's mind. I went through a rough few years where I learned the truth about some things in the world that had been lied about by people in power. I sought to teach my friends about what I had learned and persuade them from making terrible mistakes that would affect their lives... and despite my mountains of evidence, they would not listen. They had closed their minds and their hearts to me. I had cared about them so much. I had believed in them so much. I had believed in them more than I believed in myself. I thought they were good and reasonable people... but they would not listen. They hated me for telling them the truth.

If I could not convince the people I loved of honest facts in life, how could my works of fiction touch anyone's lives enough to change them for the better?

The other thing that shook the foundation of my need to write came sometime after this. It has been years since that original problem shook my belief in my writing. I no longer talk to those 'friends' of mine who shunned me and wallowed in comfortable lies. I was called many terrible names, excommunicated from my community I loved... I had no friends, but also, I had no bullies any more. I put more effort into my education. I worked more on developing kinship with my own family. I reflected on my experiences and experienced the full stages of grief until I came to acceptance. And that is where my other roadblock appeared... I gained peace with myself. One of the reasons I had for writing was to prove to my former bullies that I was worth something more than they believed of me. To make them jealous. To make them wish they had been my friends after all. What was on the surface a petty reason to become a great writer was in fact a cover up for a deeper insecurity in myself, because they had gotten to me. In the end, it does not matter what they thought of me then, and it does not matter what they think of me now, either. Just like my ex friends who called me such terrible names, the problem was never what they thought of me. It was how I thought of myself. And yes, that was very much affected by how others had perceived me and acted toward me, but now, without them around for years, no longer created a toxic and anxiety-inducing environment around me 24/7... I truly recognize that they do not matter. I do not need to make them jealous... more importantly, I do not need to prove anything to them, any more. I know in my heart that I am worth more than they took me for, and it's their loss that they did not befriend me when they had the chance. I know I am a good person. I know I am a good friend. But that's ironically a new roadblock. You see, spite is a great motivator--as is the need to prove one's self. But now, I hold no spite for those who wronged me, and I feel no need to prove my worth because I now recognize it.

My motivations are gone.

The childish desire to stick it to the jerks of long ago, the fear of being worthless, and the belief in my ability to change minds are all gone, now. So what left is there? Well, that's the thing. When everything else is lost, there is always hope.

You see, just because I couldn't change the minds of the majority of my friends doesn't mean that my words didn't reach some people. And those people have come back to me over the years to tell me that I was right--that they have learned a lot because I opened their eyes, and they are grateful that I didn't cave to pressure and bow in submission just because it was me against a tidal wave of narcissists deaf to my pleas. I've learned a lot since that time, too. My mind is open to new possibilities, including the potential that I'm wrong. I'm not perfect, but I try my best to do the right thing. Sometimes, people are not ready for that. They will get angry and try to tear me down. That doesn't mean I should stop. Plus... I'm becoming a teacher. I have to believe in my ability to help people if I'm going to be a positive influence for the kids I hope to teach. I can't give up. Not now, not ever.

So yeah, maybe I hit a few roadblocks along the way. But I still have a spark in myself that just refuses to die yet. Maybe I can't save the world. But for a few people, maybe I can change things.