What now?

Okay, I've been whining, weeping, and wailing about how unimportant I am. My husband told me to write, that I could write, that I had a novel in me. So I sit here, looking for something to say. I'm not sure where the attack of worthlessness came from today, but I don't want it here. Years of put downs came back and gripped me, and didn't let go. I need something else now, something better. I am climbing to higher ground now, and old hurts just make me stumble. I want to write and to leave something of myself behind when I go. I used to think that my children would pass on something they learned from me to their children, and it would continue down through generations of my family. I now realize I need more. I need to make a personal stamp on this world, and bring something forth from the desolation of my identity. My mum died this spring, and no longer am I someone's daughter. My sons are young men now, and need me less. I have gaping spaces in my identity and I need to replace what was with what is. Not a daughter and much less of a mom, especially since I stayed home to raise my boys. Now I stand in a strange space, a wobbly floor with no stairs leading up or down. I am alone. Unemcumbered with the expectation to exist only in relation to someone else.