I Don't Read What I Write
On writing faith for seventeen years and not clicking on it anymore
For years, I’ve written in the faith-based, spiritual encouragement space where the goodness and faithfulness of God are discussed or how He showed up in my life every time I didn’t see a way through. That’s been my lane since I wrote my first blog post on Blogger in 2009. It’s what I’ve been known for in the writing world.
I even started a podcast back when they were called vlogs, still sharing the same kinds of stories. It was a great experience and opened doors I never expected. But that was nearly 20 years ago. Life at 33 isn’t the same as living at 53.
I no longer read what I write. If I’m being honest, when another writer friend publishes a story about how God met them in the grocery store parking lot with just enough, I don’t click. I might read the headline and whisper, “Amen” or “God is good” and then scroll right on past it. And He is good. I still, and always will, believe in Him.
I’m currently part of a book club. It’s not a Bible study; instead, we read novels and stories from yesteryear, and I look forward to each new book that we read like a kid looking forward to recess. Yet, the genre I write in, hmm, I couldn’t tell you the last time I went over to my local bookstore and bought a book from its shelf.
That gap is what’s been gnawing at me. I mean, what kind of writer doesn’t read in the category she writes in? Am I bored with God? Uh, no. For the record, God and I are tight. But the question of what am I known for? What do I write about? has me going in circles recently because what was easy to answer in my 30s and 40s doesn’t seem to be so easy to answer in my 50s. I’m not the same person anymore. My interests have changed and they’re not the same sort of things I reach for as a reader.
I love fashion and pop culture. I love history and reading about the mistakes people made before us and what we might learn from them today. I love books that are unrelated to religion or faith. I love conversations about movies, music, fitness, homes, generations, relationships, and the strange ways we are all trying to live our lives.
So I’ve been asking myself, am I still giving a version of me I’m no longer present in? I don’t know. That’s the truth; I don’t know. When I sit down to write, I feel like I’m supposed to write how I always have—(1) spiritual insight, (2) encouraging story (3) with an impactful lesson at the end. But that’s not the way I read anymore.
The knot I can’t seem to untie is my desire to always point people to Christ. That’s real, and it’s not going to change. He’s in all of my life story. But I no longer want to speak Christianese or want every other story to sound like a sermon. That might sound bad, but I’m being honest. Because the people I want to reach aren’t looking for that. I don’t want people to feel like they need to believe how I believe to have a seat at the table.
And, I get it, the obvious answer might be to blend the two. You know, faith and fun. But this isn’t Tiger Beat meets Veggie Tales. This is just me talking out loud, wondering if I’m the only writer who wrestles with this? Heck, any writer in any genre, do you struggle with this? This tug-of-war between what has built you and what no longer excites you.
The reality is somewhere in our 50s we look up and realize we’ve been introducing ourselves as someone we used to be. Not false, just not exact. Not confused, just unsettled. I don’t have the answer yet. But I’ve stopped pretending the question isn’t there.
Maybe, for me, I don’t have to choose those things. Maybe that is the writing. Maybe that is for you too. If you’re carrying your own version of it whether genre or life, the comments are open.
Pull up a chair 🪑
Michelle ♡
Here is a post I wrote in 2018 with ways you can peel back the layers of false identity:
