Writing is my therapy. Instead of giving thousands of dollars to a therapist to dissect my innermost fears, I lay them out on the page. This is why my writing is so raw and honest. This is why many readers of Love Trips: A Collection of Relationship Stumbles — my first published book where I reveal my relationship woes — ask me in awe, “How can you share so much?”
I do put it all out there. Read a few pages of Love Trips and you’ll learn about the bad sex that I’ve had, that I’ve willingly participated in drunk dialing sessions, and that I have severe abandonment issues stemming from my philandering, Dominican papi.
Yet, I don’t ever feel exposed.
I write as if I were writing in a journal, as if the words and stories I create are just for me. I write without guilt or shame because I am not guilt-ridden or ashamed of the many mistakes that I have made and repeated. I write with candidness, openness, and humor because I am candid, open, and humorous.
My writing is an extension of me.
And so I utilize my voice, my experiences, my imagination, and my personality in my work.
It is what makes my writing mine.
It’s not brain surgery. I don’t have a magical writing process that leads me to create entertaining and well-received content. Although, I do have a knack for remembering the annoying details of every man I’ve ever dated. I am also very skilled in the art of introspection, which allows me to reflect when writing. Being introspective means that I can search within for ideas. That I can educate readers on all things relating to love, relationships, and self-awareness. Or as I often say, to be “self-first.”
Much like myself, my writing has developed. Although writing is still my therapy, it has become much more than an escape from a shrink’s leather couch. My purpose has evolved. My inspiration now stems from a desire to heal…others. I write to help women, if only to save them a world of heartache and thousands of dollars.