I never thought I’d become a writer. It just kind of happened by accident when I was eight years old and desperately trying to survive elementary school.
You know how some people have these beautiful origin stories about falling in love with books in cozy libraries or having inspiring English teachers? Yeah, that wasn’t me. My writing story began because kids at school were mean, and I needed somewhere to escape.
When Home Became My Safe Space
School was rough. Like, really rough. The bullying was constant—you know that feeling where you’re always looking over your shoulder, wondering what mean thing someone’s going to say next? That was my daily life. That is one of the reasons I refuse, as an adult, to be treated that way. No one deserves to be bullied, yelled at, or constantly berated. But, as a child between school bullies and a relative who mistreated me, that was all I knew.
But here’s the weird thing that happened. Every day after school, I’d come home and find myself drawn to our old family computer. My mom and grandma weren’t really paying attention to what I was doing (which was probably for the best), so I had all this freedom to just… create.
I started writing scary stories. I have no idea why an eight-year-old was obsessed with horror, but there I was, typing away about ghosts and monsters. Maybe it felt good to be in control of the scary stuff for once.
From Hating Books to Loving Them
Here’s something funny—I actually hated reading at first. Like, HATED it. Those letters on the page made no sense, and I felt so stupid trying to figure them out.
But then something clicked. I can’t even tell you when or how it happened, but suddenly I could read, and once I could read, I couldn’t stop. Books became like these magical doorways to other places, and pretty soon I was thinking, “Hey, maybe I could make one of these doorways too.”
The Magic of Just Writing Whatever
The best part about writing at home was that there were no rules. At school, everything had to be perfect and follow some boring format. But at my computer? I could write whatever popped into my head.
My stories were a total mess. I’d jump from one idea to another with no plan whatsoever. But something incredible was happening—it felt like I wasn’t even making these stories up. It was more like I was discovering them, like they were already out there waiting for me to find them.
My characters would do things that surprised me. Plot twists would happen that I never saw coming. I’d literally sit there staring at the screen thinking, “Where did that come from?” It was like having a conversation with my imagination.
Writing Saved Me
Those writing sessions became everything to me. I’d come home from another awful day at school, feeling beaten down and alone, and then I’d sit at that computer, and everything would change.
The loneliness didn’t disappear exactly, but it transformed into something useful. All those feelings I couldn’t express in real life became fuel for my characters. These made-up people became my friends, my companions, the brave versions of myself who could handle anything.
Time would vanish when I was writing. I’d sit down thinking I’d write for a few minutes, and suddenly it was three hours later. Everything else—the chair I was sitting in, the sounds of the house, even my own body—would fade away until it was just me and the words flowing across the screen.
I Wrote Everything
I kept journals constantly. Not just the “dear diary” kind, but notebooks full of random stories, song lyrics, poems, weird observations about life. Most of it never got finished, but that didn’t matter.
Even as a kid, I somehow knew that all this unfinished stuff was important. Every abandoned story was teaching me something. Every half-written poem was practice. I was learning to trust my instincts and find my voice without even realizing it.
The Moment That Changed Everything
Then something amazing happened. I entered a poetry contest (honestly, I barely remembered doing it), and my poem got selected to be published in a real book.
When I found out, it was like this lightbulb moment. “Holy crap,” I thought, “I could be a writer someday. People might want to read what I write.”
That was the moment when writing stopped being just my escape and started feeling like my future.
What Writing Gave Me
Looking back now, I realize writing didn’t just help me survive being bullied—it taught me who I was. In those late-night writing sessions, when the words seemed to dance across the page, I found my authentic voice.
The sentences flowed so easily because they were coming from the most honest part of me. I learned that stories have real power—they can heal you, help you make sense of crazy situations, and even help other people feel less alone.
That scared little eight-year-old sitting at the computer, completely lost in the worlds she was creating, had no idea she was building the foundation for her entire life. She was trying to get through another day, one word at a time.
Finding Your Thing
Sometimes the most important discoveries happen when you least expect them. What started as my attempt to survive childhood evolved into my biggest passion, then my career, and ultimately, who I am.
The words found me when I needed them most. What began as a desperate need to escape became an incredible gift that has shaped my entire life.
If you’re looking for your “thing”—that passion or calling or whatever you want to call it—remember that it might not look like what you expect. Sometimes our biggest struggles lead us to our greatest strengths. The thing that saves us as kids might just be the thing that defines us as adults.
That lonely little girl who first discovered the magic of storytelling? She’s still here, still grateful for every word, still amazed by how writing can transform pain into something beautiful.
Maybe you’re feeling that pull toward something creative, too? Sometimes the most amazing things happen when you’re brave enough to turn your struggles into art.
