Writing with Purpose

Last updated on 30 Mar 2025

This piece is a continuation of my piece, "They Walk Among Us." After the stroke, I feared I’d lost my voice—not in the literal sense, but the core part of me that always knew how to express myself. Verbal expression had always been my gift, my lifeline. Writing was never easy for me. Speaking was where I thrived. So when that ability became a struggle, I was devastated. It’s been seven years. Seven years of slient grief, regaining my confidence, and learning to cope. Somehow, in all of that, I’ve found a new purpose for my words. This is the story of reclaiming not just expression, but intention.

In high school, my English Composition teacher would repeat the same line like a mantra, “Write with purpose.”

I loathed that class.

It wasn’t that I didn’t try. I just didn’t understand. Every blank page felt like punishment. What was I supposed to write about? What did he mean, exactly? Isn’t all writing purposeful by nature—intended to inform, persuade, entertain, or fill a space before a deadline? His demand felt vague. Circular.

In hindsight, I wonder if what he truly meant was something else entirely:
Write intentionally.

That distinction would have flown over my ninth-grade head. But now?
It lands with weight.

I’ve since made peace with writing. Once a source of dread, it’s become a refuge. A discipline. A form of spiritual inventory. After years of avoidance, I found something unexpected in the mess of language: joy.

I’ve always loved words. My grandmother once gifted me a hardback Webster’s Dictionary, inscribed with a note encouraging me to learn one new word each day. The book is long gone, but the message remains intact. She understood something I hadn't yet learned: that words are legacy. That they carry us—our humor, our heartbreak, our point of view.

We all use words, but they’re never neutral.
They are shaded by emotion, shaped by lived experience, and sharpened by conviction.
Writing with purpose is about content.
Writing with intention is about character.

The distinction matters now more than ever.

We live in an age of noise—loud, urgent, emotionally charged language blasted into the world with little thought beyond reaction. Social media thrives on speed, rather then reflection. There’s an epidemic of writing masquerading as intentional, but is actually manipulative. Inflamed. Shallow. Designed to divide, not understand.

At times, I've contributd. I’m aware of the irony.

But I’m trying.
Trying to write with my eyes open, not just my mouth.
Trying to say something real, even if it’s quiet.
Especially if it’s quiet.

If you’ve ever stared at a screen and wondered whether your voice matters, I’ll say this:
It does.

Not every voice is aimed.
Not every sentence hits its mark.

So if you’re going to write, don’t just fill the page.
Aim.
This is how stroke and surviving has changed my world.

So tell me...

What’s your story?