I am a writer type. But I didn't always know this about myself. Despite the fact that my childhood days were spent in rich imaginary worlds created from my interior mind, I was writing chapbooks of poetry by sixth grade, over the years I've amassed dozens of journals and notebooks filled with random musings, plus all my email accounts have draft folders filled with writing ideas and lightning snippets that come over me and demand to be written into existence, there is literally no other "work" that both exhausts and rejuvenates me simultaneously, and my go-to, survival coping mechanism during the most difficult days of my life was simply just TO WRITE...still....it took me a long time to accept I was a writer.
I come from a family of writers which both masked the value of writing for me (it was just always a truth so I took it for granted) and led me to reject it (I wanted to go my own way, do my own thing.) Plus, writing is not exactly glamorous. It's rife with rejection, doubt, and frustration. It's hard to explain to others. It requires massive amounts of time staring out a window which doesn't look like productivity to anyone else. It's wadding up pages and screaming at typewriters and breaking pencils. It's the feeling of holding a masterpiece and then throwing it in the trash. To live this way is madness, to defend it to others is more torture.
I come from a family of writers which both masked the value of writing for me (it was just always a truth so I took it for granted) and led me to reject it (I wanted to go my own way, do my own thing.) Plus, writing is not exactly glamorous. It's rife with rejection, doubt, and frustration. It's hard to explain to others. It requires massive amounts of time staring out a window which doesn't look like productivity to anyone else. It's wadding up pages and screaming at typewriters and breaking pencils. It's the feeling of holding a masterpiece and then throwing it in the trash. To live this way is madness, to defend it to others is more torture.
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Sometimes God gives us gifts that take us a while to accept.
Sometimes we have trouble believing in ourselves, but the real truth is, God never asked us to believe in ourselves. He asked us to believe in Him. We are each given a unique gift (or gifts) to contribute to the world around us, it's up to us to get real with ourselves and down to the work of identifying what that is, but the real miracle happens when we invite God to use our gifts for good. |
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In 2007, I lost my father to a war with mental illness. Despite having struggled with trauma, addiction, and mental illness most of his life, my dad was an incredible father and made sure my sister and I had amazing childhoods. By the time I was twenty-one, his condition had deteriorated and for reasons I'll never really be able to untangle from the many pivotal factors, he took his own life May 22, 2007.
The devastation that followed was unbearable, to say the least. Though I experienced my fair share of angry moments, the pain and suffering I felt was so enormous, I knew I couldn't blame God. Quite the opposite, I knew God was the only thing big enough and strong enough to help me get through this. Somehow, I had been able to stand through the middle of the entire hurricane of grief, and as the wind died down and the wreckage revealed itself, as much as it hurt to be one of the last things standing, I knew there must have been a reason. I knew I had a purpose yet to fulfill.
The devastation that followed was unbearable, to say the least. Though I experienced my fair share of angry moments, the pain and suffering I felt was so enormous, I knew I couldn't blame God. Quite the opposite, I knew God was the only thing big enough and strong enough to help me get through this. Somehow, I had been able to stand through the middle of the entire hurricane of grief, and as the wind died down and the wreckage revealed itself, as much as it hurt to be one of the last things standing, I knew there must have been a reason. I knew I had a purpose yet to fulfill.
I am sorry to say it still took me ten years to come around to using my writing for anything other than private journals and musings. I was afraid to share my writing. I was afraid to speak up and speak out about things that were important to me. I was afraid of doing it wrong or messing it up.
I also had a lot of healing and a lot of growing to do. In that decade I also got married, had two children, and adopted the sweetest dalmation/cattle dog mix named Kudzu.
All of that time, God was working. He was restoring me and renewing my life. I am so thankful for the life I live today and I know that now it is time that I accept my gift and get out of my own way and allow God to use it for good.
Full transparency, I am still scared. But I keep at it everyday to give a little more to God, because I know that
He is truly the miracle maker.
I also had a lot of healing and a lot of growing to do. In that decade I also got married, had two children, and adopted the sweetest dalmation/cattle dog mix named Kudzu.
All of that time, God was working. He was restoring me and renewing my life. I am so thankful for the life I live today and I know that now it is time that I accept my gift and get out of my own way and allow God to use it for good.
Full transparency, I am still scared. But I keep at it everyday to give a little more to God, because I know that
He is truly the miracle maker.
Official bio: Bonnie McClure earned her Bachelor's in Psychology from the University of West Georgia in 2012. Having a high creative interest, she also minored in Studio Art, focusing on photography and graphic design. She worked for over a decade for a small, non-profit Montessori School in Carrollton, Georgia. From 2012 - 2019, she was one of two administrators over the school, learning first hand the ins and outs (and ups and downs) of small business ownership. She is an avid runner and dedicated yogi, both lending an essential balance to her overall wellness. She has two young sons that consistently reverse the teacher/student role in her life everyday. She is a member of Villa Rica First United Methodist Church. Bonnie volunteers with local mental health support groups, including Survivors of Suicide Loss, in her father's memory.
