A few years ago, there once was a little, redheaded blogger wannabe named Phoebe. She posted little haikus, poems and funny antidotes for her growing population of followers to read. She enjoyed sharing the small bits of her life with her readers and friends. The trouble with Phoebe was, that she was only a tiny little bit of the personality behind the mighty pen. Some might say the best part. Including the pen’s true wielder, and master manipulator. For you see, Phoebe was the little person inside her head that was in charge of her creativity and her voice. The wild soul living inside the quiet little homebody behind the words.
One day everything for the quiet little homebody changed, and she went through some difficult times. Depression, frustration, and adaptation became her new constant companions. Phoebe retreated into the darkness that began to fill the headspace where she lived. The more the darkness grew, the more she was afraid to venture out. Until one day she was silent, and the little homebody didn’t hear from her again for almost 3 years. Not a single poem was written. Funny antidotes were only something she read, no longer penning them herself. Her creative muse had sheltered herself off from the pain and sorrow, and every day struggles, that the little homebody was being forced to endure.
One night, a few months back, the little homebody heard a whisper in the darkness. A small flicker of hope. Over a short time, the whisper grew louder and more confident. It spoke to the little homebody and told her that maybe now was a good time to try stepping back out into the light and letting her voice be heard once more. It told her to be brave and to share the little bits of her life again that others might want to hear. Maybe the poetry would come back to her later. She had, after all, survived the troubles and trials set before her, and come out on the other side, older and wiser, even if slightly more worn and torn.
Maybe a new little Miss Homebody will emerge from the ashes of her old life like a phoenix rising from the flames. Or maybe she will inhale too soon and too deep and choke on the dust, only to retire Phoebe back to that dark little headspace again. That.. would be a waste.