She writes. She writes about the new realization she is having about this new world she is making for herself. She writes of her struggles, rarely her strengths for fear they may not actually be real. She writes of pain and suffering, not often excitement and joy. She writes what she knows most.
Of course she knows joy and excitement – she sees and experiences it everyday with her daughter. The littlest person with the biggest heart and the ability to make even the darkest days shine some light in.
She writes for other people to help them understand how words have so much power, and so much meaning. It can be so raw and real. Not everyone has the ability to share their own story so maybe her words will strike something within them.
She writes for herself, above all, because after all these years of writing, she has just become able to put her words out there for others to read, instead of keeping the journals buried out of embarrassment and shame.
There are still pieces of her that she will keep; those parts of her is not for anyone else.
But, at the end of the day, usually in the later hours of the night, she writes.