Writing Autobiography

Reading about the early experiences of writers has been quite enlightening. It motivated me to reflect on when I was first intrigued with the art of writing.
I believe my initial compositions consisted of writing mini biographies of my immediate family members. Though, quite elementary, it was a good start for a child of six. I could spell the first, middle, and last name of each family member. I also knew their birthplaces and birthdates.
The next thing I remembered was writing letters to my family members who lived up north in Philadelphia and New York. I always had lots of down home news to share.
Perhaps, my most important pieces of writing saved me from getting whippings from my mother (yes, corporal punishment was the norm in those days). Let me explain, I was a product of the “children should be seen and not heard generation”. In short, that means I was not allowed to express my opinion when an adult had spoken. I have always been what I consider to be out-spoken. I used pen and paper to express what I could not do verbally. I found it to be a powerful tool! I was allowed to say whatever I pleased and what I said really mattered, as well. The writing sure beat sharing with my tattle-telling brother how my mother made me sick. My bottom was also less tender when I relied solely on writing.
Diaries were popular during my teen years and I enjoyed documenting my daily experiences which centered on my social life. I also spent an ample amount of time composing love letters to my sweetheart while I was away in college. Beyond that, I am at a loss when I think of formal writing instruction before entering college. I can still vividly remember making an A+ on an English writing assignment entitled, My Wonderful Poppaw. My grandfather was my hero and I had no problem expressing it.
Before entering graduate school, the bulk of my writing was done as a classroom teacher. It consisted of the norm, writing letters and newsletters to parents. I’m sure I was required to write formally prior to that, but it has escaped me. I wrote many papers when I was in graduate school and did not encounter too many difficulties, if I am remembering correctly.
As life became more complex, I resorted to journaling, which saved my life. It was as effective as a valve on a pressure cooker. I was able to say whatever I needed to with no repercussions. Writing, even if only for me, was liberating. No longer did I have to be concerned about whether I was being misunderstood. I also discovered praying on paper, in essence, it is just writing a letter to God and being still enough to hear His answers.
When I entered the Ed.S program almost four years ago, the flavor of my writing changed. My thoughts were no longer as fluid but I managed to satisfy the course requirements. The thing that was most evident was that my thoughts had little to do with what was expected in the way of writing. The writing definitely became more formal in nature. In one of my doctoral classes I was expected to think as the professor thought and that drove me crazy. I am thankful that I passed the class because I interpreted the readings through different lenses.
I am now responsible for three styles of writing; academic, spiritual, and for my eyes only. Life has a way of teaching me how to walk, so I can still write for me and I can write to comply with course requirements. Either way, all is well.