Claiming myself to be a "writer" was arbitrary. When at eight, having written a poem which pleased my teacher and garnished me a bit of fame in the school, I grabbed hold to that title.

Up until then, I had been defined by those around me. I was:

dumb,
ugly,
a heifer,
a heathen,
a waste of God's creative power,
never going to be anything
not worth shit.

Being a "writer" gave me new identity. A postive one. One that my family could not mar completely or take away. But, it was, as I said, an arbitrary decision.

At nine, I taught myself to sew, by 12, I was designing and making my own clothes. At 11, I discovered I could replicate what I saw onto a piece of paper using a pencil, pen, or crayon. At 11, I also learned I could dance and at 14 could choreograph. At 14, I also learned I had a comedic flair.

I could have chosen any of these-- I'm a seamstress/fashion designer; I'm an artist; I'm a dancer; I'm a comedienne-- but the writing thing happened first. I held onto that for dear life and yes, it was that very thing that saved my soul but I'm willing to relinquish that now. I have been gifted with talents and I am grateful for them, but neither combined, nor one alone, defines me.

I am not what I do. Who I am is defined, I have learned and decided, by the amount of love I allow into my heart and how I use it in my life and in the lives around me.

I am a sometimes silly creation of a benevolent God. Though I may at times behave angelically, I am humbled by the knowledge of my position in the scheme of things. I am sure of only one thing in this world and that is that laughter and tears will heal your soul.

My name is Gwendolyn. I am me.

Hello.