Writing is hard for many reasons. The words won’t come; we don’t believe in ourselves; we don’t know how to write about our experiences without possibly hurting those we love. But there’s one reason I don’t hear very much about: writing carries with it a lot of responsibility. When words come together just so to bring clarity and understanding, they can shine a light into dark places that nothing else can reach. So when I sit down to try to make the words in my head into something with that kind of power, I feel immense pressure. I have to get it right. If I don’t, my fear tells me, if the light is too weak or maybe even nonexistent, I’ve helped no one; I haven’t done justice to the experience, the feeling, the person, myself.

Representation matters. Communication matters. Misunderstanding can wreck a life, and understanding can salvage it. The links between us are built in large part from words. The best writers have used their words to help me understand and connect with others in a deeper way than I ever could have without them. The light they cast still illuminates dark places I can’t help visiting sometimes. Thank goodness those writers kept going. If they could, so can we all.