The Woman That Invented Herself

a biography (how a writer was born)

In 2014 I left behind a past in Portugal to build a future in England. I started a new life, from scratch.

After living the worst events of my life that year, I was ready to convert the pain of loss in strength; absence in reencounter, despair in hope.

In the country I lived all my life, I left a son, a mother, and friends. My heart was shattered, my deepest pain, leaving my son behind, of course. Despite his 20 years, I needed to have him close to me. Which happened nine months later — the time of a pregnancy, time for him to embrace the idea of a new beginning.

In the third minute of the 19th of October, 2014 my life in England began.

The first hours of my newborn life were spent in a London airport, waiting for 6 am to come, when a bus would drive me to my new home: a rented minuscule room. An experience that didn’t go well and I ended it three weeks later.

Still in Portugal, the countdown to my move was made with anxiety, I urgently needed to put an end to the life I was living. I had to run away; I was miserably unhappy.

I had my short-term future planned, however, when I arrived at my Destiny fear took over like an avalanche. Laying down on that white floor at the Stansted airport I was facing my reality: my future job was confirmed solely by an offer letter, and my future room was reserved on a Skype conversation. On top of that, if things went wrong, my bank account wasn’t going to be any help.

Nothing was certain, and everything could go terribly wrong.

On that frozen dawn, I was starting to panic.

Obviously, I had considered the risks before travelling, but I had done it in a safe environment. Now I was in a foreign country, not knowing a single person and with a couple hundred pounds on me.

But I trusted.

I have an amazing instinct, I trust it blindly, and it always told me this was a good decision. So, I took a deep breath and, trying to get warm under my coat, I ward off my fears and hold on to the feeling I had, back in Portugal: everything was going to be all right.

It did: my landlady was waiting for me at the bus stop, and the following day I signed my work contract.

From that day on, I worked infinite hours. To pay for the expensive English life, to pay back the borrowed money, and to keep me busy. I wasn’t ready to face an empty home; I had to keep myself as busy as possible.

My first weeks in England were lived in absolute solitude, by choice: I wasn’t ready to meet anyone, bond with people, to show myself. I was relating with my co-workers on a superficial basis.

Time passed, and the excruciating pain - my soul shadow - was starting to soften.

One night in December, my insomnia changed my life course.

It was just another sleepiness night when suddenly an urge to write wired me up.

When I was a teenager, I used to write daily in my journal. But now was different, it was something deeper. I had to write about my sadness. I was sure it would have a therapeutic effect.

At 2 am I turned on my laptop, and I started to write. With no mind attached, only emotions. When I got out of the trance, I realized I was writing a story, mirroring the last year of my life.

That night I found a purpose. That night I started to write a book.

Unorganized, without structure, spontaneous plot and premature writing.

From that night on, my lonely moments where no longer an escape, but a meeting with my writing.

Looking at my draft, I saw potential. So, I decided to sign up for a writing course; besides the learnings that would help me improve my writing skills, it would be another thing to occupy my mind.

I finished the course, I learned immensely: I had achieved my purposes.

The book I had started on that insomnia night was replaced — I’ve decided not to write about grief, I needed to get away from it, and I had to stop feeding it.

During the course, I started to plot a new novel, with my teacher's support, and eight months later I wrote the words The End.

Since then I never stopped writing.

I never stop dreaming.

I still grieve and miss badly my old life, but I choose to live in the Present. I choose happiness over sadness.

I have built my path; I’ve created a new life, so different from before.

I write, I smile. I live.

I am happy.

*For you, my eternal love*