I was terrified when I first started writing online.
I wasn’t sure how much of my pain I wanted to share publicly. My life felt like a roller coaster and none of my story was neat and tidy. Nothing was tied up with a bow.
My husband had left and I was struggling as a single parent. My body was breaking down as the effects of post-polio syndrome were intensifying. My dreams had been long abandoned and there was little left to hold on to. Yet God was teaching me to hold onto him. I wasn’t sure if my journey would be encouraging or petrifying to other people.
I had been diagnosed with post-polio syndrome several years earlier and was told to give up all of my hobbies immediately. The staff at the polio clinic said I needed to preserve my arms. To ration my strength and energy. To pare my life back. If I didn’t, they said, someone else would be brushing my teeth in ten years.
So I cried. I fought it. I mourned the loss. I argued with myself and with God.
And then I listened. I boxed up my painting and scrapbooking supplies and gave away all my cooking magazines. I wouldn’t need them anymore. Life was reduced to doing the bare minimum while the things that brought me happiness gathered dust in the cupboards of my house.
In those dark days, I asked the Lord why he gave me the desire to create beauty in the first place if he knew I wouldn’t be able to continue with it. I didn’t hear an answer.