12 point, Times New Roman, Double Spaced

Write about a time that someone changed.  That was the assignment. Non-fiction, 8-12 pages, 12 Times New Roman font, Double spaced. 

I never knew a simple assignment would be another freeing measure. I feel quite lucky really that this is what my teacher assigned. And I feel even more lucky that my teacher created a classroom filled with respect, admiration and trust. Pouring your heart and inner most insecurities out onto a page can be a bit scary really. Just a bit. It was scary and terrifying, but I have never been so thankful for an assignment. 

It's amazing how much energy one can expel when writing in blood on a page. Writing in the blood that was circulating for far too long and holding in too many secrets. Revealing experiences and moments and haunting memories takes a toll and it becomes an emotional climb without you even realizing it. But that's what I did. I accessed the trauma and pain I had been holding it and released it onto that page and I wrote about a time of change. A time of painful, yet eye opening change. 

I turned in an 8 and a half page double spaced 12 point times new roman font white paper black ink assignment filled with the intermost workings of my conscience. I awaited the judgement day. The critique. The day when you sat there silent while practical strangers discussed your piece as if they knew anything about you. But when that day came, I finally felt it. Validation. 

I returned home after 25 long minutes of people proving to me they read, appreciated and ultimately understood what I so freely just spilled out on a page. I walked out of class with my friend sharing sentiments of "oh I'm glad the critique is over," and moving on to chat about weekend plans. But when I walked into my apartment and shut the door to feel seclusion, I dropped my bag on the floor and just cried. I let it all roll out because I was validated. I wasn't crazy. I wasn't overreacting. I was right to be angry and upset. And I wrote it all with talent and poise. 

I can be hurt. I can be in pain. And I can successfully dictate those interworkings and devilish twisted moments into a coherent and organized manner that more than just my own heart can relate to. It may seem small. It may seem silly or insignificant. And maybe I really shouldn't crave validation. But walking out of that classroom having given a little piece of my heart and soul to each student in that room and trusting them with its delicate manner, validated it all.