Finding the Power in My Words Again.

BY BRYNN WOZNIAK

Brynn is an undergraduate student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. She's studying Biochemistry & Psychology, and hopes to go to medical school. In her free time, you can find her in a local coffee shop, snuggling with her two cats, or cooking a meal to share with friends. Find her on Instagram: @andthereisalwaysmore @brynn.wozniak

If you were to step into my childhood bedroom, you’d find countless half-written plays about long-lost sisters and numerous diary entries detailing my family vacations. Writing always came naturally to me. It is how I deconstructed new concepts and ideas. 

At some point in my development, I labeled this non-academic writing as an unnecessary indulgence. Part of this, whether good or bad, came from observing my greatest role models. I remember my mom describing herself as an “ideas person” as opposed to an “execution person.” 

While I admired her for this, my young mind internalized this distinction as a choice to make. I decided that I was going to be an execution person—someone who got things done, followed through on plans, and made other people proud. 

Part of my new goal came intuitively: I have always loved planning things, achieving long term goals, and analyzing information. But in my effort to be a person known for following through on things, I denied myself the freedom of imperfection, brainstorming, and creativity. 

I was consistently praised for these efforts by my parents, teachers, administrators, and the occasional stranger. In middle and high school, I was determined to advance my commitment to achievement. I propelled myself into a whirlwind of honors classes, AP tests, extracurriculars, sports, and leadership positions. 

My love for school became obsessive to the point where I refused to sleep, eat, or spend time with my family unless I maintained straight A’s. However, I felt proud and fulfilled by this overbooked schedule. 

But something shifted when I got to college. Suddenly, my high school achievements felt small and unimportant. Everything I had sacrificed placed me at the same state school as peers who gave up much less.

And this brought me a profound sense of sadness and guilt. I was more of a person on paper, through statistical representation, than I was in real life. I did not know who I was or what I really stood for. 

I do not remember exactly why, but I started journaling in November of my freshman year. It began as a series of lists: my favorite movies, songs lyrics I liked, the kindest words people have said to me, little things that made me feel grateful, etc. I wrote objective truths about myself—things I knew to be true. 

It can be daunting to try and “find yourself” when you don’t even know where to begin. I now take comfort in knowing that I am a fluid being. Finding myself means accepting the flow and rhythm of life, and the lyrical thoughts that accompany it. I can start with the things I do know to be true and real and build on them. 

Finding yourself does not have to mean starting from scratch. 

It took me a long time to feel like my words were worth sharing. And further, that I can be both smart and creative. For me coming back to writing was slow, and then all at once. 

My relationship with writing allowed me to explore complex ideas, reflect on my feelings about relationships, and recognize where my passions lie. It brought me back to my younger self and helped me grow into a more competent adult simultaneously. 

Most importantly, my journey back to writing has taught me that many things in life are not exclusive. As human beings, we have a natural desire to categorize things. It is the way we make sense of our world and interpret threats. In some cases, there is power in labels and identity—bringing together communities and kindling movements. But in others, adherence to binaries has a downside.

I can be both an “ideas person” and an “execution person,” and I can grant myself grace through all of this. 

If you are dealing with a similar sense of creative confusion, I’d recommend starting with something like More Love Letters or a personal journal. As a very logical person, it was immensely helpful for me to re-enter creative writing from a structured direction. Writing to someone else helped me build confidence to explore the parts of myself I was unsure about. 

And so if any of this resonates, here is my mini love letter to you: 

Knowing who you are does not come as intuitively as some people assume, and that is okay. You do not have to figure yourself out all at once. It requires intense reflection and immense patience. When you feel lost, lean on the people who love you. Sometimes they know you better than you know yourself—and this is the power of human connection.   

Contradiction is a human construct. Creative writing does not have to oppose science. Art does not have to oppose sport. Softness does not have to oppose strength. We are all better off without these distinctions.  

Your words are valuable, all of them. It’s okay to start something without the goal of finishing it. Not all things are meant to be complete works. 

Most of all, you are everything you are meant to be right now. You are you when you fall away from your good habits and when you pick up new ones. You don’t have to grow to be worthy of love, care, support, or respite. Growing is powerful, but it is not everything. Through everything, you will remain lovely. 

Love,

Brynn