Personal Narrative: My Relationship With Writing

My relationship with writing has been much like roller coaster.Some experiences I had no control over. Other experiences were more influential. Ultimately it wasn’t until I started reading not because I had to read but because I wanted to, that's when my relationship reached change. I would have probably never cared about writing as I do today if it weren't for the critics in my family. When I was a child, my aunts and uncles always been in competition with who's child is better in school. I have always hated reading and writing because of the pressure to prove my family wrong was overwhelming for me. I had to prove them wrong and show them that I was capable of being "smart" which according to them was getting straight A's in all your classes.

But of course, the voices of my aunts and uncles were always in the back of my head: "you're not smart" , "you're not trying hard enough", "you're not good enough", "just give up". And the fear of failure would make me nervous when a test was around the corner. I couldn’t ask my parents for help because they weren't literate in English and they were only Spanish speakers. I couldn’t ask my brother he was always playing outside with his friends and I couldn’t ask my cousins because they would only make fun of me and tell their parents. So, there was a time I stopped asking for help. My parents saw my struggle so they signed me up for afterschool tutoring. I didn’t know what to expect, I just hoped I would get the tutoring I need to pass my classes. The tutors were so understanding and they didn’t just have homework tutoring but activities for learning which were fun. They also had books they read to us and they made the big kids read to the little

My arm got so swollen and hurt so much that I was rushed into the hospital. The fear of not being able to write tormented me. I wondered if I would ever be able to pass out from the pain. After going to emergency, I came out with a cast in my arm. The doctors gave me some pain medications and I was going to get referred to therapy, I didn’t know what to expect. I wondered what would happen and if I would have to wake up the next day with the same pain or maybe even worse. The pain was a ten and it felt like my arm was burning, it was so unbearable that I couldn’t even move it. All these question came to my mind: "How will I eat?" Will I be able to sleep at night?" "How long will the pain last?" "Will I be sick in bed for days, weeks, months?" I was sick in bed for several months and I couldn’t write or go to school. I was so devasted because I had never been sick in bed for a long time. I started reading books since that was the only thing I could do. When I read books I would get inspired to write poetry but I would record myself. I remember reading catholic books my mom had but they were in spanish. I didn’t really know how to read spanish well but I tried my best. I figured I could learn spanish better by reading spanish books. I remember reading the Bible, and other prayer books that made me feel like I could escape from my sorrow. My love kept growing deeper for reading, and I had more ideas for