“Called to write, paralyzed by fear”

How do you unwind after a demanding day?

There’s always been this quiet pull inside me—this feeling like I was meant to write.
Not for fame. Not even for attention. Just… to release. To let all the thoughts, emotions, lessons, and stories that swirl around in my head live somewhere outside of me.

The ideas come at the most random times—especially while I’m driving. It’s like that motion unlocks something spiritual. The windows down, music low, mind wandering… and suddenly, I’m having full-blown conversations with God, with myself, with the version of me who’s still healing.
But then I get home, and the moment’s gone. The words vanish. Or worse—they get trapped behind fear.

What will people think?
Who’s going to care?
Why would anyone want to read my story?

I’ve wrestled with this for so long. With what to say, how to say it, if I even should say it. I’ve silenced myself before I’ve even tried. And the craziest part? God gave me all these experiences—these storms, these miracles, these scars turned survival—and I’ve been too scared to share them.
But why?

Why would God bring me through all of this if not to speak on it? If not to show someone else that healing is possible, even after the ugliest kind of broken? That faith can grow in the ruins. That strength doesn’t always look polished—it often looks messy, cracked open, but still standing.

I don’t have all the answers, and I’m still figuring out what this journey of writing looks like. But I know this:
There’s power in the telling.
Even if my words only reach one heart—then that’s enough. That’s ministry. That’s healing for both of us.

So here I am. Showing up. Saying yes to the call I’ve been running from. Putting fear in the backseat while I let truth take the wheel.

And if you’re reading this? Maybe it’s your reminder too:
Your story matters.
Your voice matters.
Start where you are. Speak anyway.