This Is Me: Rediscovering My Voice in a Digital Age

This is me -  

I have been away from writing for a while and I now return to it.  

I have been up for hours, since the hour of four in this morning as a matter of fact how poetic.

He has lovely baby toes, he recently turned five. "Mummy why do you move from me" he asked talking while he sleeps, my heart. 

There has been turmoil in my life the last year ended with a thump and January did not let up. I suppose I could be thankful that it did not touch him or I directly.

It has caused debts to rise, I am among the throngs in this regard.   It is curiously upsetting when I find that I am indeed not that special. 

What have I been up to this Sunday morning, my sky Q box a usual refused to work, I listened to an Evangelical Catholic Bishop talk about prayer and giving, I listen to the church of England daily prayer I love the music, singing psalms and the clear diction of their readings.

I soothed my sore glute, from a self defensive class I took on a whim with by boy in tow. Women only but they didn't seem to mind the child. To be fair he is gorgeous - As a mother I am allowed to brag. 

I did Duo lingo didn't want to lose me 643 days steak, then I did some colouring by numbers all the while listening to sermon and preaching. 

Like most I don't connect. I know there is a God and I believe in God but I don't think he helps anyone in particular, that is left to the fates. I am not christian though the amount of time I say Jesus' name you would think I would be. 

What did I want to write about . I forgotten. But I know I need to not keep away from writing so long again. 

His arm around me, his breathe in and out audible. I can't remember what he said I was fighting with ChatGPT.

I remember when I first discovered chat GPT almost a year ago, as with most tech things I came in with the masses. I remember how excited I was I was going to write that first lesbian love story I have been dying to read. But the generic drivel and insincere plot points was irritating, and critiquing every phrase made my imposter syndrome grow. Until I lost my voice and what I wanted to say.

Even now I cannot resist searching through the Chat to see what it says. But this time I am without lofty ambitions. I write because I have to because I need to shore my soul, I need to put into words this life I am living with it scars and pain, with its joys and triumphs with its surprises and awe. 

I need to put in words my me and let my me be still. 

The second biggest obstacle to my writing is reading what I have already written. It feels wrong, uncomfortable, cringe worthy. But how can I grow and learn if I don't read, read and read again. What is the worst that can happen. I paralyse myself and stop?

I have had decades and starting and stopping and life has taught me that all success is a fluke. So what have to lose by reading than a few upset stomach and panic attacks?

This is Chat GPT 

Alright, I’m tasked with editing the provided writing based on critique. I’ll need to update this to flow more naturally and refine the language.

There’s something lovely about the opening, the bit about being "away from writing," but I think it could benefit from smoother transitions. Also, some poetic phrasing here might sound a little disjointed—like “since the hour of four in this morning.” It's nice, but it could be clearer. The description of the child’s “lovely baby toes” and his sleep talk are sweet, but I want to make sure they don’t distract too much from the main emotional tone. Let’s clean this up!

It’s funny how familiarity can put me right into the crowd instead of feeling unique. The rising debts, the little things like the Sky Q issues and my varied Sunday activities—it all feels oddly universal. Listening to the music at church, soothing aching muscles from that class with my son, all while keeping up language streaks and finding meaning in things that don't connect. As much as I try, writing keeps slipping away from me. Oh, right! I mustn’t let too much time pass without writing again.

I’ve taken time away from writing, but now I return. I’ve been awake since 4 am (how poetic), and my child, with his soft baby toes, just turned five. He asked, “Mummy, why do you move from me?” as he talked in his sleep—I adore him. The past year ended with challenges, and January followed suit—yet, I’m grateful it didn’t touch him or me directly. Life feels overwhelming with debts rising, but I’m part of a shared experience. This Sunday, my Sky Q box refused to work, so I listened to a Catholic Bishop talk on prayer and giving. I also tuned into Church of England prayers, loving the psalms and clear readings. After that, I soothed a sore glute from a self-defense class I took with my son in tow (a women’s class, but they didn’t mind). I did Duolingo to protect my streak, and then coloured while listening to sermons. Despite my connection to God, I feel spiritually distant—it’s often left up to fate. I don’t quite know how to tie it all together. Feelings of uncertainty linger.

I’m not Christian, though the frequency with which I say Jesus' name might suggest otherwise. What did I want to write about again? I’ve forgotten. But I know I need to avoid staying away from writing for so long.

His arm around me, his breath soft and audible, I remember how I first discovered ChatGPT almost a year ago—like most tech bubbles, I arrived with the masses. I was initially excited to write the lesbian love story I'd always wanted to read. Yet, the formulaic plots and critique of each phrase fed my imposter syndrome, until I lost my voice and purpose. Now, I write because I need to—because it anchors my soul, despite life’s scars, pain, joys, and surprises. I need to write about "me," to find stillness in the chaos.

Still, my biggest hurdle is reading what I’ve written. It feels awkward, uncomfortable, even cringeworthy. But how can I grow if I don’t read over it, again and again? What's the worst that could happen—to paralyze myself and stop? Life's taught me that success is mostly luck, so why not risk reading and face my discomfort? Worst case, maybe just a few upset stomachs and a panic attack.