I belong(ed) somewhere else for a really long time. Almost 10 years…but there’s a distinct lack of growth in that other-place. It’s become cyclical and stale, and I’m trying my best to become someone more and better.
I’ve stopped and started so much that I don’t know what to do except for jump in like I always have.
I’ve had a lot to ponder lately.
I hit 25 this year hard and fast. It’s caused a lot of introspection on my part. I’m not in my early twenties any more. I’m no longer a child. I’ve battled depression and anxiety in various measures since I was 14 with a few brief intermissions. I still experience wildly fluctuating feelings of insecurity–and I feel like a hypocrite, as part of my career is emotional support for teenagers. I feel inauthentic sometimes when I try my hardest to get them to see how precious and worthy of respect they are when I can’t do it for myself. But I haven’t given up.
I have trouble with follow-through. Closure. Endings. I’m not in the habit of finishing much of anything…and that’s just one more thing I need to outgrow.
I have kept a journal since I was about six years old. Writing is my sanity. My job has kept me from doing much of that, but I’m starting to get back into it. I’m trying to be as persistent as my personality will allow and more. A friend of mine has been particularly encouraging because she knows how much it’s helped me in the past, but she’s also pushing for me to own my words. That’s hard for me to do. I’m in the habit of secrecy and taking on others’ secrets without divulging any of my own. I’ll just do what I can for now. No use in rushing.
So. This is it.