Hello again. It’s good to be back. What a year and a half it’s been, y’all have quite some catching up to do. Initially when I started my blog, the first round, it was truly such a scary leap I was more than satisfied with the finished product I left at its end. At least one blog a month? Sometimes more. Incredible. Speaking openly about mental health… absolutely insane for me to wrap my head around. But in my gut, I knew I needed to give myself some time privately to process and cope with the last several years if I ever was going to be able to heal much less verbalize any of it. I’m glad I listened to myself (because if you can believe it, it got worse. We will circle back to that later). 

The irony is the beginning of this journey and me really finally recognizing myself as a “writer” go hand in hand. Truth be told, I have always journaled though rather inconsistently, and I often excelled in school for writing-related things. But I never viewed myself as a “writer”. Nor did I think anyone would care to read. I graduated from law school in 2019 with the same journal I entered with in 2016. That is how inconsistent I had gotten about sitting down and reflecting. Quite frankly, that is how bad I got at feeling anything. There was no time. I exited on quite a rough note and started slowly being more consistent with the practice, not viewing it as any type of writing exercise. Viewing it more as a necessity for sanity. 

By the time I moved back home, I had really started to make a dent but didn’t really see that there would be any reward from this. I lost the value of creating things, which was honestly really sad because growing up that is all I loved to do. You could say I had a flare for the dramatics…. But when I say I created, boy did I create. I wrote stories, scripts, poems, and songs. I acted, did improv, danced, sang, and choreographed. I took up photography, painted, drew, created collages, and scrapbooked. I constantly had multiple notebooks growing up for different aesthetic purposes. I played multiple instruments, I tried to teach myself guitar but never could commit. Anything and everything you can think of, I at least tried. I thrived off of creating. I loved it, and unfortunately for years and years… I lost it. Or at least I lost my ability to view myself as someone capable of creating. 

I have always wanted to write a book, still do. When I returned home my neighbor was getting ready to publish his first book of poems. How. Fucking. Cool. Something I couldn’t even fathom getting to the finish line of if I’m being real. When I told him how impressed I was, and that I always wanted to write a book, he said something back that has made an impact on me for the last several years. Though I’m sure unintentional, I’m grateful nonetheless. His groundbreaking advice? 

“So write. Start writing or journaling every day. Just do it.” 

Sounds silly, but it flipped a switch in me that applies to more than just writing. If you want to be or do something, you have to actually attempt to be or do it. You cannot continue to pine or wish that one day you maybe might will get there and then take no action to get there. You have to start moving. You have to start doing. 

So I did. By the end of the year, I filled up my entire journal. For the first time in my life, I actually finished a full one without jumping ship. And I have not stopped writing since. Even after I shut down my blog for my hiatus I wrote. I write in about four to five different places, consistently. Different expressions, different categories, different exercises. I am always writing. 

The beauty of the exercise is not just what I’ve learned about myself, but what I’ve learned I can be capable of. To say I used to be guarded, well that’s an understatement. I was impossible when it came to vulnerability. My god, I truly would rather you kill me. It felt like torture. Of course, I have had friends and family I have confided in over the years and leaned on, but a fraction of what I was actually dealing with. Making myself write and reflect consistently has forced me to be more comfortable with my emotions. It has allowed me to get comfortable verbalizing them, which in turn has given me the opportunity to share them. A lot. And the more I did it, the easier it became. Which turned into a beautiful coping mechanism, and right on time for me because I absolutely needed it. 

The last couple of years have been filled with so many beautiful life-changing peaks, but they also have been littered with some pretty low valleys. I have worked through so much loss, heartbreak, and grief among other things. And thankfully I had another person point out that something such as heartbreak is literally meant for us to create art from. To use it to fuel creation. So instead of retreating into my shell like I used to always do, I kept pushing myself to come out and be open about what I was feeling and going through. In writing, in speaking, in creating. I’ve never felt so naked but I also have never been so free. I’ve created a lot over the last year and a half I look forward to sharing with you, but I also know there is more to come. 

I’m finally ready to share.