The Journey of an Insecure Writer

I accidently wrote a book. 

If you are struggling to write a manuscript, I understand why the previous sentence annoys you.  I promise, it is not coming from a place of pride or security.  I am an incredibly insecure human, which is why I never had the courage to come out from the beginning and declare my love for writing.

Writing for me was a way to process trauma.  As a child, I kept secrets out of fear of the adults in my life.  As an adult, I kept secrets as a way to relate to my family and cope with them as best I could.  After my parents died from drug-related illnesses, I found the secrets I had buried began to resurface on their own and without my permission.

All of a sudden, I had no control over the childhood memories that were popping up in my head or the timing of them.  As I was caring for my own children, I would suddenly be reliving a painful moment in my own childhood.  It was incredibly scary to not have control over the intensity of the memories.  They felt so real and so present. 

Out of fear of losing control of my mind, I decided to go to counseling.  I found a counselor who specializes in childhood trauma, abuse, and grief, all of which were my specialties too.  My counselor suggested writing as a method to process trauma.  I would write about a portion of my life, she would read it, and then we would process it together in counseling.  Without realizing it, I had set up a routine for writing and meeting a deadline.  I had two weeks between appointments, which meant I had two weeks to write about the next chapter of my life.

After two years of counseling, I had written When the Secret Keepers are Gone, a memoir about surviving a family of drug addicts and religious con artists.  My counselor gushed over my progress and admitted that she wished I would pursue publishing so she could recommend my book to other trauma survivors.  The thought of letting anyone read it made me instantly feel sick to my stomach.  What would people think about me if they knew the morbid memories I carry inside my head?  Would my friends distance themselves from me?  Would people treat me differently because they feel sorry for me?

My counselor encouraged me to start with baby steps.  She asked me to share the book with five of my closest friends so that they could be my support team while I processed trauma.  After dragging my feet for months, I finally got the courage to send them the manuscript.  For days afterward, I felt nauseous.  

Then, the strangest thing happened.  Instead of my friends pulling away from me, they drew nearer.  They became my cheerleaders.  With each page they read, they left me emotional texts and teary voicemails.  They were angry on my behalf, sad with me, and proud of me.  My friends also began to dream with me: What if my story could help others heal?  What if my story helped open up important conversations about generational poverty, trauma, and abuse?  What if someone could read my story, and therefore not feel so alone in their own story?

Eventually, I got brave enough to join a local writing group.  The first time I shared a chapter from my book with the group, all of my insecurities and fears crept in.  I was confident that I was not a “real writer" and I did not belong.  Again, I was met with kindness and encouragement.  The group believed in me so much that they emboldened me to take steps toward publishing.  They also invited me to a writers’ conference.

At the writers’ conference, it was friends who signed me up for all the things I was too insecure to participate in.  So I awkwardly and timidly read at an open mic event and met with a book agent, because my friends refused to let me sit on the sidelines.  With each positive interaction I had, their confidence became my own.  

When I got back from the writers’ conference and shared with my husband about the overwhelming positive feedback I received, he gave me a challenge.  “Crystal, can you drop the whole, I’m not a real writer thing?  You have written an entire book.  Each time it has been shared, you have received overwhelming positive feedback.  I want you to walk forward in confidence.”

So this is me, walking forward in the confidence of my friends and family, while their confidence becomes my own.  My name is Crystal Hawkins.  I am a writer.  I have written a memoir about growing up in a family of religious con artists and addicts called “When the Secret Keepers are Gone”.  It is gritty yet humorous.  It is heartbreaking yet hopeful.  I hope to be a published author some day.  I hope that you will be able to hold a beautiful copy of my book in your hands and know that you are not alone and that our stories matter.

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