Lighthouses

One of the main things that has kept me sane throughout my whole life has been my love of books. Writing, reading, studying. My Mum told me that as a child, before I could even read, I would drag a book around behind me like a teddy bear, and that I had a book in my hand ever since. I love the smell of physical books, the musky scent that reminds you of home and abroad; the feel of the pages slipping between my fingers; and, most importantly, the words.

Books were always my safe place, and no matter how I felt, they were there to welcome me. I was drawn into the fantasy worlds of Enid Blyton as a child, before Black Beauty, The Railway Children and Narnia caught my attention. I started writing stories at age 5 - I still have the two page story I wrote about two birds trying to rescue their friend from a pesky cat - before my school started to notice my passion for writing poems. They encouraged me to keep going, and I felt immense joy when they were placed on the classroom wall for all to see. 

It was when I was 13 years old though, that books took on a new meaning for me. I read Jane Eyre for the first time, and I suddenly knew that this was what I wanted to do. Somehow, I saw myself in the little girl who felt she was the odd one out. It resonated with me as I read how Jane tried to make sense of her life, and finally find independence. She was me, and I was her, and as I finished the last chapter I knew that I wanted to write. Charlotte Bronte had opened a door within me, and I wanted to affect others the same way she had to me. It was the a-ha! moment I didn't know I needed. 

The problem is, life doesn't always go the way you want. Although you don't need an education to write, I desperately wanted to learn, and study. I wanted to immerse myself in books, and surround myself with people who felt the same. I wanted to experience more of the world to make me a better writer. The issue with that was that I was poor (still am, to be fair!). It was something I wanted so desperately, so I worked and worked and worked, and exhausted myself to get there. As anyone who is poor will know, education is a privilege, and although you can buy all the certificates in the world, it's the hard work that makes it worthwhile. And I was willing to work for it. 

I began my PhD two years' ago now, and in that time, I have had people make comments about how I am a show-off, or I think I am better than others because of my studies. They don't see the hours and years slogging away at my laptop, or when I fall asleep with my head in my book. They don't see when I doubt myself and feel like quitting. They don't see when it all feels too much. They also don't see the joy I still feel when someone reads something I have written and I can physically see my words impact them. I think it's unbelievable that people could think I would spend all the money, time and energy that I have just to make them feel inadequate about themselves. I want to make my family proud, of course, but for me, it's about spending my life doing something that makes my heart sing. Nobody else matters. I've learned now that if others want to project their insecurities onto me, then that's more indicative of them and not actually anything to do with me at all. I'm going to keep doing my thing regardless.

Whenever I feel lost, I turn to my books, and there I find myself again. Books are my lighthouse; a part of the journey and a part of a destination. I still carry a book around with like a teddy bear, along with a notepad and pen, and for as long as I live, I will find joy in words.