Growing in Writing

I read last night about private writing in the book Sue gave me. Some writers keep a journal just for a journey, whether physical or emotional or spiritual. My life is a journey.
I think how my habits prevented me from writing about our trip to England and Scotland twenty six years ago. I wrote in seclusion. Hiding from the world my thoughts or that I even had any. If I didn't write first thing in the morning, writing for the day disappeared. How silly, but I was twenty five. A baby, really, despite being married and a registered nurse dealing with life and death in ICU's and telemetry floors for four years.
The pen may have met my notebook while we were doing laundry somewhere in Scotland. I think Edinboro. We spent more time in Dunoon, so that may have been it. Oh, how I wish I hadn't been so secretive.
Even when I started my novel three years ago, I woke at four in the morning so I could write huddled in the dark away from prying eyes. I couldn't admit I was a writer. I wanted to prove myself before I told my family, then the world. My writing had  to be in seclusion, like a fetus in the womb, until I could hide it no more.
I slowly started to write whenever I could. But still in covert situations. Mary Ellen away on Fine Arts trip. Then in evenings with her activities out of the home. On vacation after she went to school and before my sister woke, when she was staying with me. I didn't want to chance the ridicule that I couldn't succeed.
A few friends I invited to pray for me. They were supportive and excited. Writing excites people. Writing doesn't get done on its own, though. Many think it can. In any movie about writers, showing much of the writing process is, well, boring to actually watch.
As I dropped Mary Ellen off for band camp this morning, I thought how I'm putting writer's conferences on hold. Yet, her senior year can never be replaced. A writer must live as well, for how can she write if she has not a life.
Writing is now my life that is not hidden. My family knows. My husband asks how the blogging is going. Or have you blogged today? He may not read it. Too personal for him, I guess. Not sure why nor can he say. Yet, I know he believes in me and supports me. I try to encourage him to write, but he laughs that his handwriting and typing are too inferior. I'd love to edit what he wrote, as I think he has a wonderful voice. I love the love letters he wrote before we were married as he served the Navy in San Diego and Groton, CT. Doubt I'll ever share them, well, maybe censor them first.
The announcement to the world with this blog and then months later my business cards gives me confidence I'm a writer. Lovely unfolding of a beautiful life that gets better each day.