I had gone from being a daughter in my parents' home to marrying and being a wife. Within a year of marrying, I had a child and a new1—mother. It seemed that I was 2defined in relation to someone else. I was somebody's daughter, somebody's wife, somebody's mother. So, where was Jane? More 3 who was Jane?
In between having four more children, 4 my husband as he started a business, and serving in our community, I 5 Jane. Sometimes, I wondered if there was anyone to seek. Did I6 outside my relationship to others? I didn't 7
And then I wrote a short story aimed at children. I typed it and sent it out. To my great 8, it was accepted. I wrote more stories. Many of them were 9, but I still kept writing. And, in writing, I found my _10 I also found that people listened. I wrote of mothering. I wrote of living with depression. I wrote of living on a 11 budget while my husband's new business struggled to survive. And thus I became an 12person, looking for and finding the words inside me. I shared those words with others. I knew that I could make a 13 through those words. Shy by nature, I'm 14 to speak in public. However, through my writing, I can 15 those words. I can touch others by sharing my thoughts and feelings, as well as my experiences and struggles.
"I didn't know you 16depression," one friend said after reading my article on living with depression. That opened a(n)17 between us on how depression can be as weakening as any physical disease. We laughed and cried together as she shared her own experiences. Our friendship 18_ . At the same time, with my newfound independence increasing I became more 19_ . Additionally, I had a sense of 20 when I knew I was helping someone else.
