As I've been working on my own story, I found myself being slightly avoidant of reading other works.

Not because I felt mine was better, but because I was worried that I would feel that mine wasn't good enough to be let out into the world.

There was also a part of me that didn't want to unconsciously steal from other people.

Then one night as I lay feeling empty, I decided to find a book to help pull me away from my head.

I found one. I started to read it, and for just a moment, I felt whole. I felt inspired. I could see what it was that I need in my own work.

I didn't judge myself. I learned. I compared. I analyzed what I liked and what I didn't.

I found a new wave of creativity and jumped back into reworking my own novel. It took on a new, less judgemental life. It started to flow better. The characters had a purpose. I could see who they were, and I wanted to know them more.

Then life stepped in again. Taking from me. Pulling from the glimmers of hope and light I had struggling to grow.

I switched my focus to preparing for my Gyrokinesis certification (yes, I received my certification). 3rd time was the charm for getting there and completing a journey I had thought would reach its first in back in March.

At the news of yet another death shortly before I was meant to leave, I was convinced it would be taken from me again. But it didn't. I dealt with this death differently. I mourned. I let the emotions travel through me, and I released it back into the universe.

Two weeks later, I found myself finally sitting in a room with twelve people ready and willing to give and receive whatever we all had to offer. It was beautiful.

I often struggle to see my own worth, specifically with others. If I can't see my own worth, how can they think so much of me?

Needless to say, I was now in a room full of strangers who were accepting me and my energy. They wanted to be near me. They wanted to share my energy. They referred to me as happy and lighting up a room. I was flabbergasted. How could these people that just met me be saying things that people who have known me for years tell me?

It was a lot. I was forced to open my heart to be fully present, and it hurt. Lots of myself was exposed, and I wasn't entirely prepared for it. More than one night, I cried myself to sleep. Exhausted both from moving all day and from slowly opening this wall.

But I wasn't ready for it. And coming back to the real world with those cracks caused repercussions that ended in a place that no one wants to be. I struggled to find my worth more so than other times as of late. I wanted to be gone. I wanted to not feel the dark. I wanted to release my burden upon the people watching my struggle.

I didn't act upon it. I cried. I looked at Christmas lights. I begged their beauty and what they tried to represent fill me. And then I let myself feel. And it hurt. But I felt it.

And then I felt numb again. And I was ok with that for a brief moment.

Now I found myself in this last week. I had picked up another book. Something about it drew me there, and I wanted it to consume me, but the first chapter did anything but. I had to focus for it to draw me in. I got stuck on details. I couldn't let things just be. I fought it.

Then I reached about 40 pages in, and everything changed. I was instantly sucked into a story I had no idea I had been preparing for (I like to not read what the book might be about and rather see what is recommended and pick a title that sounds captivating).

I was thrown so completely into this story that danced around in my head with images that painted enough of a picture to let me create my own experience. It was intelligent and breathtaking and forced me to exhale when I hadn't even realized I wasn't breathing.

I felt so completely. Love trickled through my soul, and I could see and experience what was there. I didn't want to let it go, so I held on tight. I reveled in everything the words on the pages were offering me.

Now, that the book is done, I feel inspired. I want to understand how my characters can give that to a reader. I want to hone in on a skill that I've been afraid to admit that I have and share with those willing to accept it.

I can only hope that like this book, even when some moments are rough, they will want to keep going, keep being a part of that story.

And that idea is the hope that I will grasp onto through my own times that are rough. If I don't push through it, I'll never get to the beauty waiting for me just on the other side of the lake.