When something has affected me, and the life around me, I stew. I analyze. I judge myself and my thinking. And then I want to write a letter.
But to a family member? A friend, to explain my feelings and make sure unspoken thoughts are clear? I hold back. Because aren't we generally expected to talk it out? Isn't it considered a lame attempt, a way of backing down, if we succumb to the written word, which, without inflection, with no tone or ambience in mood, can be misinpreted?
I say, "No more." I'm tired of holding out, of denying myself one of the barest means of communication.
Writing is what I'm good at. If I can't sit with the best of intentions and form an amazing letter, one that says what I need it to say, then I'm not worth the title of writer.
So I'm promising myself: If I have issue with someone, when I have something I need to get off my chest, and it's crucial to the life I'm living, I'll write a letter. I'll pour my heart into the document. I'll cuss and I'll be snarky; I'll delete and re-write. I'll edit and make it pretty. I'll be tactful, humble, so as not to cause strife. I'll be clear. I'll be wise and I'll form beauty with my words.
Because I'm a writer, and that's what I do.