So I lost my nerve with my writing.  It has been months since I have pondered my experience of the world on the page. Something about ‘that is not how it is done’ became a bigger voice than I could battle.  So rather than battling, I let it have its rein for a while.  I sat with it, I wondered and I discovered a little wounded part of self, who believed she was never good enough.  We became friends, we played games, and rather than trying to convince each other who was right and who was wrong, we eventually chose to accept one another for all of the messiness and the incompleteness that we are.