This week, there was a very special Share Post. It was from my son. He has struggled with ADHD and mental illness over the past few years and finally he is seeing some light at the end of the tunnel. He is feeling hope for the future. His share post talks about his dreams and how just maybe they might come true. To know that my life has inspired him and created hope, is immensely touching. Dreams sometimes take many years to come true. Hope is what we all need to make it through to that moment.
Back when I was in middle school (more years ago than I care to remember), I would write stories, they were terribly bad stories, but it wasn't so much the story that mattered, as it was the writing. I loved to write. I wrote to calm myself, to let my troubles pour out on paper.
In high school, I wrote a story for English class. After the stories were handed back, my teacher asked to see me after class. Being a teenager, I searched my mind to try to come up with what I had done wrong and why he wanted to talk with me after class. It turns out; he wanted to compliment my story. He wanted to let me know that it was good and that I was a good writer. I have always remembered that moment. The moment when someone told me I was good at the very thing I loved to do.
During college, I enjoyed writing term papers. Okay, so most people thought I was nuts, but they also came to me for help on their papers. They all got good grades. Looking back, my mistake was in not charging them for the service. I could have worked my way through college writing term papers.
After college, life got in the way of a writing career. I started working full time and there just wasn't enough time to pursue writing as a main career. I chose instead to have a family, raise children, and make a home for them. I have never regretted my choices, not even for an instant.
One day, the strangest thing happened. I began to write again. It was the confusion and questions I had over my son's diagnosis of ADHD that spurred me to write. I began a website, wrote articles myself and to my surprise, thousands of people read them. I can't tell you what a thrill it was to know that people actually read what it was that I wrote.
At nearly forty years old, someone actually paid me to write articles. It was amazing!! The day I received a check for an article I had written is right up there with the astounding moments of my life. It comes after the day I was married and the days my children were born, but all in all, it is pretty high on the scale of great and wonderful days.
Today, I write every week. Sometimes, dreams don't die. They may take a long time to come about; they may be put aside for a time, while other things take priority. They may seem as if they were just wishful thinking. But sometimes, when you keep believing, dreams come true.