“Everything negative — pressure, challenges — is all an opportunity for me to rise.” _Kobe Bryant  

I was unsure  how to begin my first blogging post on “The Bashful Butterfly”. I sat staring at a blank google document trying to come up with a snappy, witty opening line. Dozens of ideas raced through my head and but did not transfer to my keyboard. One of my goals for 2020 is to regularly post on a blog. “The Bashful Butterfly” will be my 3rd attempt at blogging. I posted to my previous blogs sporadically; years went by without a post. Part of the long stretches stemmed from changing life circumstances, disinterest in writing, low self-confidence and the pesky comparison bug that has spread throughout the 2010s. 

I read blogs from influencers who amassed thousands of followers. I saw pristine pictures accompanying  poignant prose. I thought to myself, “No one wants to hear what I have to say” or “I can’t write like (insert blogger name)”. I spent years daydreaming of the stories, personal anecdotes and random musings I wanted to put out on the blogging sphere. I became trapped in the labyrinth of unrealized dreams of my “writer life”. Jet setting across the world, writing about my experiences seeing world wonders, snapping pictures of myself in front of the Great Pyramids, the Serengenti, or in the middle of jostling energy of Tokyo.  

Then somewhere in my mid to late twenties, I abandoned my aspirations of starting the writer’s journey. Ages 23-27 were a blur of moves to cities in the southern United States, hopping from job to job, firings from jobs, and a life in genuine disarray. 

I decided I was exhausted of the zig-zag my life manifested into. If writing wasn’t my destiny, then I needed to be an adult. No more fantasizing about living the life of a scribe. I needed a career. Security. Income. Health insurance. 

    I became a ninth grade English teacher. 

   Teaching provides me with the security and an honorable profession. I am able to share my love of literature and writing with spunky fourteen year olds (although my enthusiasm often does not transfer to them). Yet, I feel a tug, a call to share my story.  The excitement of writing never left me. I wake up with my heart longing to begin the day with a fresh document on Microsoft word. Instead, I grab my laptop I use for school, folders with ungraded student work (due to my penchant for procrastination ), and lesson plans. My brain nods in approval, “finally, she’s making wise choices”. My heart says “But, why does she feel a pit in her stomach each morning she walks out her apartment?” The brain says “She needs health insurance”. The heart retorts “She needs to write”. 

And thus here I am. Here to take you on the zany adventures (which mostly take place my noggin) of a socially awkward thirty year old Christian woman. The more I type, the more my mind floods with anecdotes of growing up with a autistic brother, being bullied from grade school until I graduated high school, being raised by introverted, socially awkward parents, life with generalized anxiety disorder, depression, and life as a  teacher. 

Oh, did I mention I was a Christian, aka a disciple of the awesome Jesus Christ? 

If I want to be a writer, then I need to write. No more excuses. No more comparisons. No more doubts. No more succumbing the pesky procrastination bug.  

I have to write, because if I don’t, then I have neglected to use the gift God has blessed me with. The apostle Peter was on his “A” game when he said in I Peter 4:10 “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace”. 

My hope is for my words to encourage young women who walk through life invisible. Who feel like no one sees them or they have no place in God’s kingdom. My words are for women who lived most of their lives blending in to walls, who were passed by unnoticed, longed for friendship yet were too timid and insecure to pursue it. 

2020 has started off tumultuous. Wildfires, earthquakes, deadly viruses and the deaths of cultural icons. If there was ever a time to start grinding on our dreams, the time is now. 

Thank you all who have read and I am thrilled to share my voyage with everyone who reads “The Bashful Butterfly”. Maybe you’ll laugh (Oh, what wit she has!) . Maybe you’ll tear up (Oh, this touches my soul!) or maybe you’ll scratch your head (what the heck was this girl thinking when she wrote this post??). 

Whichever thought crosses your mind, I am grateful for. 

Stay blessed folks. 

Signed,