I was so happy when I learned to read and write.
 
It was as if the colors were turned on where there was only grey before.
 
Opening a world I didn’t know.
 
And I wrote.
 
And wrote.
 
And wrote.
 
Little poems.
 
Simple sentences that rhymed.
 
I didn’t think about what I wrote.
 
I was happy just to WRITE.
 
To put words on paper and see empty space fill up with something that was in the air before.
 
It was magical.
 
The purest form of creation: turning nothing into something.
 
I only wrote for writing’s sake.
 
For the pleasure of letting words flow to me, through me, out of me – without knowing where they came from or why they even were.
 
It made me happy until something changed.
 
School started making demands on this newfound treasure in the form of Assignments like writing an essay or a letter or a project of some sort.
 
With a purpose and a structure and a deadline and a goal.
 
Writing was no longer a world filled with freedom.
 
It was now a Thing you had to do for school.
 
A Thing that – oh god the horror– not only had to follow certain Rules, but was Judged and Graded, too.
 
Now others interfered with my newfound inner space.
 
“You can write,” they said.
 
“You should do something with that,” they said.
 
“Wouldn’t it be fun to work for the school paper,” they said.
 
And since I loved to write I thought this might be true.
 
I tried it.
 
I hated it.
 
There was no magic there.
 
The assignments did not open up my creativity.
 
It shut it up and closed me down.
 
The joy I found in writing was gone.
 
The essence of it lost to me.
 
My mind poisoned with what I learned about writing and what it was for.
 
I started looking at my work through critical eyes.
 
Wondered if what I did was good enough, would get me good grades, would be understood.
 
And because I learned that writing needed a structure, and a form, and a goal, I came to believe this was true.
 
You can write for the pleasure of writing, but if you want more than that and actually BE a writer?
 
You need to know how to make money with it.
 
How else can you survive in this world?
 
(Or so I started to believe.)
 
So take your pick.
 
There’s journalism.
 
Art. (But there’s no money in that,  I thought, and you need an exceptional talent that I didn’t think I had.)
 
Or writing for a company that will pay you money for turning their agenda into words.
 
None of that sounded good to me.
 
I stopped writing.
 
And I buried my dream of living my life as a writer – even though as a kid, I KNEW that’s what I was and how I wanted to LIVE.
 
I now thought maybe this dream wasn’t so much about writing as it was about my intense desire to be free.
 
And the only way 5-year-old Brigitte could see a future filled with magic and freedom was if I wrote.
 
But maybe that dream wasn’t about being a writer after all.
 
Maybe it was just a dream about being free:
 
Free to do what you want, whenever you want, wherever you want, because you want it.
 
Living moment to moment, filling each moment with whatever felt fun and the perfect thing to do.
 
To be this free….
 
That’s what I wanted.
 
And I KNEW it was my destiny.
 
But apparently, writing was not the way to get there.
 
Or else I would know how to make a living with that…
 
So I forgot I was a writer.
 
Tried finding my way without words.
 
And failed.
 
Nothing fulfilled me.
 
I didn’t know what I wanted.
 
Got stuck in unfinished studies and dead-end jobs.
 
Until I finally found another way to be free and honor my soul:
 
Work as a coach. Help people find their soul’s purpose and turn it into meaningful work.
 
And the day I officially started my business in 2003 I also realized:
 
I finally know what I can write about!
 
I can write about tuning into your soul and remembering who you are and building your life around it!
 
It made me happy.
 
It felt like coming home.
 
I had to become a coach to finally be a writer.
 
And write I did.
 
Article after article.
 
My first book, in 2008.
 
And years went by.
 
My business grew.
 
In 2012 I rebuilt my business to serve women all over the world instead of in The Netherlands only.
 
And still I wrote.
 
Article after article.
 
A new book, I hope to publish in September.
 
I still loved to write.
 
But it was all writing with a goal, a message, and a clear structure:
 
It was a book or a sales page or a blog or an email.
 
And it always had a purpose:
 
To inspire and to educate.
 
To help people change and heal and grow.
 
And to hopefully turn readers into ideal clients.
 
I loved writing it all.
 
I still do!
 
But it wasn’t writing ONLY for the sake of writing.
 
It wasn’t writing for the pleasure of turning nothing into something.
 
To put words on paper and see empty space fill up with something that was in the air before.
 
And I didn’t even know I missed it.
 
I felt like something was missing sometimes.
 
But I thought that was just the discontentment of not seeing certain goals fulfilled yet.
 
Until recently I was in a writing workshop my soul led me to.
 
And the door to my love of writing for the sake of writing – to the essence of my being – was opened WIDE again.
 
It’s only been 3 weeks since and every day I write for the joy of writing again.
 
It brings me so much joy.
 
It makes me feel alive in ways that NOTHING else does.
 
Some of my writing, I think, is good.
 
Some of it, I think, is rubbish.
 
It doesn’t matter either way.
 
If I want to FULLY live – which I do! – I need to write.
 
I need to immerse myself in this magical process of putting pen to paper, letting words flow out, turning nothing into something without judging what that something is or what it’s for or if it has any other purpose than bringing me to life.
 
I didn’t know I could not fully live if I don’t write for the sake of writing.
 
And I didn’t know that what comes out when I do is something I’m supposed to share…
 
But my soul tells me it is.
 
And I always honor that.
 
I don’t know if it’s ‘good’ enough.
 
I don’t know why I should share it.
 
I don’t know what form it can or will take.
 
Will it be a book?
 
Will it have anything to do with my business?
 
I do not know.
 
I do not care.
 
And none of it matters.
 
I simply know that this is who I AM.
 
I’m born to write.
 
It gives me life.
 
It makes me whole.
 
I love writing articles and blogs for my business, and I will always do that.
 
But it’s not enough.
 
My soul wants more.
 
I want more.
 
I want to write for the sake of writing.
 
For the pleasure of creating something out of nothing.
 
For the magic of the flow and the energy I’m in when I write.
 
My soul wants me – demands me – to share it.
 
And so I started doing that already on Instagram and Facebook.
 
Because I can’t ignore my soul – she leads my life.
 
And I can’t betray the book I’m writing now.
 
How could I publish a book that tells you to unmute your life, break free from fear and go for what you REALLY want, and not do that myself?

That’s just not possible.
 
And so I write.
 
And so I share what comes out.
 
I don’t care about form, about structure, about ‘good’ or ‘bad’, about what others may think of it or what I think of it myself.
 
I don’t think about it at all.
 
I just open up.
 
Let the words that want to come through come out.
 
And I share what my soul guides me to share.
 
I’m born to write.
 
It’s who I am.
 
That’s all that matters and all I care about.
 
Everything else – whatever that ‘else’ may be – is a bonus.
 
A good one, hopefully.
 
And even that.
 
Does not matter.
 
And it feels fucking good.
 
I’m finally,
 
completely,
 
home.
 
 

 

Love,

 

 
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P.S.: The book ‘Unmute Your Life – break free from fear & go for that you REALLY want’ I mentioned above is not finished yet.

I hope to publish it in September.
 
 
P.P.S.: I share my writing-for-the-sake-of-writing on my Instagram account and Facebook page.
 
Here’s one I recently shared:
 
 

 
 
 
P.P.S.: what makes YOU come fully alive?
 
Do (more of) it.
 
It’s what you’re meant to do.
 
It’s who you are.
 

P.P.P.S.: Want to build your business around who you truly are and what you most love and want to do?

I can help.

Check out my 1-1 coaching here.

 

©️ Brigitte van Tuijl

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