Write your story...
Those words greet me as I tap into the Steemit writing space. Today, they feel welcoming, but it hasn't always been that way.
There was a time when #thelittlevoice ran away from those words. In the days, months and years before she knew about Steemit those words held a hidden terror.
What story?
What could I possibly write? What events could I share? Where would the climax be? What climax?
In those days, I couldn't imagine a story taking shape inside my mind and then spinning itself into golden thread. Rumplestiltskin waited outside. I didn't know his name then. So he held the power.
Now though, the power is mine. The story unravels and what was once upon a time becomes the here and now. The Little Voice takes centre stage and removes her red riding hood and reveals her identity...
Wonder Woman was played by Linda Evans back when I was a child. She hit the screen in the late 1970s, and straight away, along with the Bionic Woman, became my heroine. I would stand up straight, cross my arms over my chest and become her. The power of play! My imagination was found in activity. As children we find it easy to slip in and out of new identities, trying on different costumes, picking up a stick and suddenly we hold a sword. It is the easiest thing in the world.
But reading and writing. They were not so easy. Not for me.
I remember sitting in a chair of my infant headteacher's office, my feet not quite reaching the ground. My mum was there to see her, and although much of their conversation didn't make sense to me, I knew that my mum was worried.
There was something that didn't feel right. Yet I recall my teacher commenting, "She's such a happy child."
And then the words that I held inside for so many years.
"I don't care if she's happy. I want her to be able to read!"
Reading.
So important.
But I found it hard.
The letters jumbled up and I got them confused. We had these horrible orange folders where we had to make up words and sentences. I preferred to spend my time in the Wendy House. I wanted to be Peter Pan and never grow up!
Who knew that later I would dream of becoming a writer.
At night, words were read to me. These words joined together and created amazing stories. I looked over at the pictures and then transported to the world of dreams.
Cinderella sat and cried into her seat her arms wrapped around her head. Suddenly, the chair softened and she felt herself hugged. Her fairy Godmother had arrived. Everything would now be alright.
Aurora pleasantly snored until a kiss brought her back to the waking world of dragons, and Red Riding Hood skipped to her grandmas to confront a wolf.
Julia went to school and the words became jumbled. Play was lessened and stories were condensed. Janet and John, the typical English children bored her silly. She went to special classes. In the special teacher's classroom animals were kept and tended by the special ones.
I remember little of this magical time when I was special, apart from the animals. I don't remember reading. I do remember the less than special classroom I was also in. We were grouped by colour. There was the Blue group, the Red group, The Yellow group, The Green group and the group I was in...
The Brown Group
It didn't make me feel special! Although I had yet to even hear the word, I learnt the meaning of "connotations" at this time.
BROWN
I still remember the names of the other children in my group, Joanna, Nigel and Danny. So many names have been lost to me over the years but their's remain with me. Funny. We weren't even friends. Not really.
And then, almost by magic, the words stopped jumbling. Janet and John were left behind. New stories, better stories captured me and transported me away. I could read.
I became the teacher in the Brown group, with Joanna, Nigel and Danny all seeking my help. It was then that the doors to the special classroom were closed to me. I shed a tear. I wouldn't get to tend the animals anymore. But I could read.
Wander inside a book and you will feel the wonder of the world open up to you. I may have been excluded from the special classroom but I now had the ability to transport myself to new worlds and times.
Eventually I left the Brown group behind me. I fell into some kind of pattern of learning. I believed myself to be average, sometimes a little less than, sometimes a little more. A balanced Libran quality that I took hold of as it fitted my birth date.
I enjoyed school.
But those words... "I don't care if she's happy. I want her to be able to read!" haunted me.
Even though I could now read, I held inside this feeling that it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. Even when I became the captain of the netball team, even when I got an 'A' for my Art O Level, there was always the 'Cs' lurking to show me I didn't quite cut the mustard. I feared failure but...
I ran away from success.
There was no way I could stand up to a dragon or confront a big bad wolf. I was happy, but that didn't matter. My mum didn't care.
I replaced her long remembered words, "I don't care if she's happy. I want her to be able to..." with whatever else I felt I couldn't do. And there was always something else I couldn't do.
There will always be something else I can't do. That makes me smile now. I have always been happy. I am still happy. My mum, bless her soul, did care. It just wasn't what was important at that once upon a time meeting. She was frustrated.
I didn't know then that my brother, who is eleven years older than me, hadn't learnt to read until he was eleven. I guess Janet and John didn't cut it for him either. He learnt when the stories mattered to him. He learnt when he wanted to find out about his favourite football team (soccer for my US friends) and my dad bought him a football programme every time they went to a match.
The story of my life has many spins and turns. The golden thread plays itself out and I now see myself as the heroine. No need for Wonder Woman or the Bionic Woman, the everyday woman is enough for me now.
I am enough!
As always, nice post @juliamulcahy!
With very limited time, dropping by to support your post, after @mcnestler featured it in our weekly @pifc community contest.
Totally get the limited time aspect, so feel very grateful that you spent it here reading my latest post. I hope to check out the @pifc community in the new year, when the Christmas crazy season is over.
What an amazing story! Honestly learning to read is probably one of the biggest achievements of childhood. It sure can change everything once we open up to the magic of the written word.
I found your post through @pifc where it was featured this week.
Thanks for stopping by @headchange. Hope you’re having as much fun here on steemit as I am. 😁
Hey there, @ juliamulcahy! I really enjoyed your post. Especially the personal note in combination with the struggles everyone has posting on Steemit.
I choose to include it into my entry for Pay It Forward Curation Contest.
You can see my post here.
The Pay It Forward Curation Contest supports undervalued bloggers who create quality content. I think you are one of them :)
Have a good one
M
That’s very nice of you, @mcnestler, and much appreciated 😊
I think all of go through something similar. It's nice to know I'm not the only one. I know I'm not but reading that someone has gone through the same or similar struggles . Keep up with the great writing @juliamulcahy.
You were featured for week 35 of @pifc's Pay It Forward Curation Contest by @mcnestler
We all have our stories, right? Sometimes we just don't see them that way, then you begin to tap away at a keyboard and suddenly they appear.
Thanks for stopping by @tryskele :)
Beautiful and endearing. Our life stories are mimic-y although the words & actions of deep-seeded memory are different.
I will always know that my parents tried their best in raising 8 children...can you imagine??
Impossible to meet the mental & emotional needs of each of us. So, as an observer, I'm of the opinion that each of us carry forward scars where gaps developed...
I really appreciate your wordsmith-ery as the story of your life spins & turns.
Will be glad to observe your continued creativity as a WRITER. Only those who have DONE IT know the challenge & opportunity of being a writer.
We all have a story to weave & tell, but not all have the courage to do so.
Peace and smiles
Ah, thank you @jimmyoblog, such sweet and endearing words. And you called me a WRITER! We are besties now, you know that, right? ❤️