Learn 2 Love Yourself

For those struggling with positive self-image due to depression, anxiety or trauma.

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Imagination Reboot

I’ve had a name kicking around in my head for a long time, the name of a character I half-created last year while I was living in Colorado - Dominique Valenzuela. In my mind, she’s a half-white, half-Hispanic badass who solves crimes with her long black hair and martial arts skills. Or...she’s still culturally mixed and badass, but she just happens to stumble upon situations where she can help but she’s kind of awkward doing it. The character never went anywhere, obviously, because I don’t know the first thing about creating a believable person with those qualities. Maybe if I was more Patricia Cornwell and less Patricia Polacco. 

Anyway, I was watching The Mindy Project on Hulu (the gay Netflix) the other day and she was trying to find a new gynecologist. A guy in her practice stepped up and said he would do it for her, but that she would probably feel pretty uncomfortable seeing as how they knew each other but didn’t have a personal relationship. Before she went in for her initial visit she was feeling kind of strange about it so a male nurse told her this trick he uses: he invents a character that’s a lot more badass than he is and lets all the weird, strange, bad, awkward things happen to the character and not him. The character takes the brunt of the punishment and he’s free to sit back and watch while feeling none of the sting. 

Mindy transforms herself into Beyonce Pad Thai about halfway through her office visit so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable and ended up kicking ass through the rest of the visit - so much so that her doctor pal felt weirded out and ended up leaving the exam room. She had won! She had bested him at his own game! Hurray for Beyonce Pad Thai!

But it made me think. Maybe Dominique Valenzuela isn’t meant to be a character written on the page to perform adventures. Maybe she’s inside me and I’m her when I’m faced with uncomfortable situations. When I think about it, it makes sense -  she came to life right after the cowardly husband left us last year and has stuck around as a figment ever since. Perhaps this is why I’ve been able to be as strong as I have and not completely cave in to the depression, anxiety and mental anguish that threatened to take over my life. I’ve been letting Dominique take on most of my emotional issues - except for when she can’t, like when I have to experience the trauma in order to come through it better, stronger. 

Something to think about. 

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Development is Afoot

A lot has been happening since I last posted, and it’s time I start getting it all out of my mind and on to the page before I explode. Nothing bad - I just have a lot of thoughts I need to talk about. 

The relationship between my son and I seems to be stuttering along and somewhat getting better, but we still have strained communication though not as many arguments. We’ve put up a Christmas tree (of sorts; it’s on the wall and made of crafts) and have both been making an effort to spend more time together. We still have a long way to go before we can speak without anger, frustration and a past pull of regret.

I’ve been dating a man for several weeks and last night he asked if I would be his girlfriend; I said yes! We’ve been on a few dates and have so much in common, just a simple, easy way around each other, and I’m over the moon that he asked me so sweetly to be his girlfriend. It’s like courtship, and I appreciate the slow pace at which we got to know each other. I’m really looking forward to seeing where this goes. 

My depression has been a lot better, too. I can function almost all days without crying or feeling bad about myself, and am actually allowing myself the feeling of happiness when I can. When I’m around my boyfriend, I laugh a lot, I forget my problems, I feel lighter and supported and just generally better about life in general. For this, I’m thankful. 

There have been so many problems with my car in the last couple of weeks and I honestly didn’t think it was going to make it much longer, and it probably won’t, but I’ve had so many excellent people help me with repairs that I can honestly say I’m thankful for assistance in getting my car up and running again. If it can just hold out until February I can get another one and this one can go for scrap or whatever. Fingers crossed!

...I had something else I was going to say but then the phone rang and I totally forgot. So...I guess I’ll go to bed now. I’m out of weed so I’m sober for the next week but it’s not so bad; my head feels like I can handle it but my body will have to adjust to no CBD content for awhile. 

Good night. 

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All alone is all we are

I’ve been struggling for over two weeks to regain the courage to keep writing, no matter how badly I want to never put fingers to keyboard again. Pen to paper. Pencil to...other stuff to write on. But I depend on me for my sanity and I’m running out of good things on Netflix. 

It’s also been over two weeks since I started antidepressants again, which is part of the reason I’ve stopped writing. I need to get my head on straight again, think about the future, stop dwelling on the past and work through all of the junk in my brain. It’s been difficult to find the motivation to do anything other than wallow in my own thoughts, as strange and deafening as they may be, but today the need to write overwhelmed my need to remain anonymous so here I am. 

I’ve been casually dating a man I’ll call Mr. A since right after Halloween, though we’ve been talking for a bit longer. I’ve spent time with him exactly three times and I completely enjoy his company, and he seems to reciprocate. This helps with the depression and anxiety issues that constantly plague my life, the ability to laugh deeply and truly have a good time. It’s going well, and I keep my fingers crossed every day that my awkwardness does not one day overwhelm all the good fun we have. 

My car is about to die, and it’s giving me quite the crying fits. I don’t know what I’m going to do for Christmas for me and my son. I barely made it through Thanksgiving, and in 4 days I’ll mark exactly 365 days since my husband made his unexpected and cowardly escape from our lives. Good riddance, asshole, but you left me with a mess to clean up in more ways than one. 

Despite all of this, I forge on. There’s no other choice at this stage in the game, I have to keep moving forward. I like my hair and the way most of my clothes fit. I enjoy having company from time to time and being able to read. My back is slowly getting a little bit stronger so I don’t struggle to walk and bend and cook and clean...at least, not as much. I still have bad days and I still cry, but I feel like I’m getting a better handle on who I am and where I’d like to be.

That’s the best I can hope for. 

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A Little Dose of Medicine

I don’t especially enjoy going to the doctor, and this includes any doctor/dentist, but my body was telling me something was wrong so I finally broke down and went a couple of days ago. I wasn’t feeling well and simply felt a little ‘off,’ which told me it was time for medical help. 

I am now back on my high-dose vitamin D supplement, which should help a lot with the bone pain from arthritis. I also requested to go back on my antidepressants, which is the main cause of a lot of my struggles both mental and physical; she agreed. She also gave me something to help me sleep, as we all know I can’t sleep worth a damn on any given night, no matter how tired I truly am. 

This is the second day I’ve taken the antidepressants, and I started the black cohosh supplement again because the menopausal hot flashes are starting to really become frequent and irritating. So far all I’ve noticed is GI problems, but I know from experience these will straighten out within the next week or so. At least, I hope! Otherwise it’s time to try something else. 

She also did blood work, so I should be getting a letter in the mail soon with the results. It will be interesting to see where I stand on a lot of issues, as I know things tend to get out of balance pretty quickly when I stop paying attention. 

For now, I’ve been able to (mostly) manage my depression this past week but it’s been a little difficult. I know it takes time for antidepressants to kick in so I’m not hoping for a miracle, but it’ll be a relief when the cloud starts to lift and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel again. 

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My Deepest Apologies

To me,

I owe you an apology. No, really, I do. Don’t try to protest and tell me you’ll be fine and you don’t need one, because you do. I have done you wrong, so put your pride aside for just one minute so I can finally apologize to you properly. 

For years, I tried to ignore you. It was so difficult, though, because loving you was something that came naturally and to purposely push you to the back of my mind was a constant struggle. I mean, I’ve known you my whole life! It would be wrong to suddenly turn my back on you. 

But...I did, and now I seriously regret it. Where I once fed you from my own hand, I now pretended like I didn’t know you. My heart broke each and every time I passed by you in the hallway or out on the sidewalk, your shadow intertwining with mine until they were one. We used to play all the time and have fun, so much fun! but then other things came along in life that seemed better than you. 

Like boys. And pills. And weed. And lusting after life with a thirst that could never be quenched, a spirit that could never be stilled. When these fun and exciting things came along, brand new and shiny, my sudden interest made it seem like you were boring in comparison...and I was a little embarrassed to know you. 

Over the next 15 years, I barely saw you anymore. Sure, we would say a friendly ‘hello’ when we met each other at the store or post office, but our eyes betrayed the smile with the pain of knowing someone so intimately then seeing their ghost alive and well. 

It hurts, deeply, and I’m sorry I put you through that. I can never apologize enough. Let me offer you the words of my soul, the song that sings through the darkness: I love you. I always have, and I will until the end of time. My time, your time. You are the only thing that has ever mattered to me in my life, and I was selfish and arrogant for putting you second in my life. I promise you with my very last breath, I will never hurt you again. 

For we are the same person, you and I. Your are my soul and I am the heart, and unless we work as one we’ll never be able to truly learn, or love, or be happy. To neglect you is to neglect me, and I refuse to return to the shell from whence I am, where I lived for so many years in the dark. I could see your hand reaching out to me for refuge, but I always felt like you were a million miles away. 

So I traveled across the longest distance ever, years I can never retrieve, to grab on to your hand and never let you go again. I’m truly sorry for all of the pain and suffering I put you through, but my word is my honor and I will always put you and your happiness first. 

I love you, 

Me

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Can't get out of my head

Yesterday was an amazing day for me, one of the best I've had in a long time. I had a date! With a real person! He was wonderful. We smoked, ate dinner, watched movies, kissed...it was a relaxing day, and he's so funny and fun to be around. We've made a tentative date to go out again in a couple of weeks, maybe to a movie or something. I really like him, and I hope he feels the same. I suppose time will tell. Today, however...the depression is crippling. I've been crying off and on all day, I feel numb all over, and I can't help but feel like I'm a pathetic loser. And we just ended up with another kitten in the house, which is kind of stressful to me right now, and there's little I can do about it. I'm a mess today, a full-on steaming pile of horrible mess and I feel like I can't go on. I don't want to go back to work tomorrow and pretend I care, it sounds exhausting. I don't want to keep doing nothing with my life. I want to travel, and write, and live and fall in love and be divorced from this horrible albatross around my neck...I just want a different life and I don't know how to get one. I feel like a horrible mother lately, with a son I can't make be a good person. I'm failing at everything I attempt and I don't want to keep doing it anymore. I need someone to step in and help me out, give me a hand from time to time to lessen these burdens so I can breathe. I'm suffocating under my life and I don't want this anymore.

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The Reckoning, The Sickening

I’m incredibly tired of the rat race lately. I’m tired of being under the thumb of The Man, doing his bidding, punching a time clock, pretending I care about capitalism and all of the bullshit that goes with it. This isn’t what I was meant to do with my life. I’m a writer! I want to travel and write and meet new, interesting people and hug them. And I want to make money doing it only because that’s the nature of the world, not because I believe in the power of money. 

I work because I have to, not because I want to, but I’m so burned out. I want to do all the fun things now but because of bills and child and junky car, I’m going to be able to travel about the time I die...and then I can travel to the Other Side and maybe (maybe) be free from all the things I hate. 

Deep breath. Deeeeeep breath. 

On the other hand, I’ve been conversing with someone of the opposite sex lately and we seem to be getting along really well. I enjoy his company and personality, and we have a date scheduled for this weekend. Have I said that before? I might have, I have such a bad memory. Anyway, pizza and a movie and hopefully some green and cuddles sounds exactly what the doctor ordered. 

And, as it turns out, my depression is better when I have quality people to talk to and share my life with, even as friends. 

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The Downfall of 2016

Ah, November. How I...have no good memories of you, and the way the month seems to herald the decline of the rest of the year. This is the time where people are loving family time, pumpkins, cooking, feasts, more family, religion, presents...more family...and I don’t feel any of it. And it’s been like this for almost 20 years...and I don’t know how to stop it. 

Hypothetically, people say, “just replace those bad memories with good ones.” Okay, sure; sounds fine in theory. Go forth and prosper, create new memories, new happy memories of things that will forever solidify in your mind as happiness, and all your cares will be washed away! In reality...it’s not that easy. 

It started 19 years ago when I lost Gran, the absolute love of my life. My heart will forever belong to her, and will remain intrinsically tangled until I’m lucky enough to see her (and Grandpa) again. I miss her every day, every month, every year, but it’s only around the fall and winter holidays that I miss her the most, because I lost her at Christmas. 

My first husband left me on Christmas Eve. My second husband walked out December 1st 13 years after the first one. I was raped during the holiday season, and have had several horribly depressing Thanksgivings in a row. And now that I’m a single mom again with a child who is old enough to understand the world, I’m not sure how to handle all of the festivities. 

When Nick left last year three weeks before Christmas, I pulled together the best I could and gave my son a good holiday, even as I cried in the bathroom later that day. And even though 30 days from today will be one year since he left, I know this year will be different. I am very aware that new memories will be made, hopefully good ones, and memories that will involve my son’s family here in Minnesota. I hope he can keep his little head about him when Christmas rolls around and not eternally equate the holiday with loss, like I do. I hope he can forget that last Thanksgiving was one of the absolute worst we’ve ever had and see that his grandparents (and mom) are trying to make things better for him. 

Putting up a Christmas tree and filling stockings always makes me fearful, dreadful, and I could just as well do with skipping right to January and doing away with the Americanized holiday season all together, but as long as I have a little one in my care that will never happen. I’m a big enough person to realize that someone needs these holidays more than I do, so I’ll continue to play Santa and eat deviled eggs and put up a tree like nothing is wrong and desperately try to put the past behind me. 

I know tomorrow isn’t promised and today is a gift, which is why we call it the present, or however the rhetoric goes. I’m aware that I need to be thankful and appreciative of the things and people in my life and I totally am, believe me. I came to Minnesota with nothing except a few boxes and firsthand experience on how your entire life can be ripped out from under you in one fell swoop. I know how lucky I am to have the few things I do. 

Maybe once I know how to cope with loss a little better this time of year won’t be terrible for me, and I won’t open my eyes with dread every day between now and the rest of the year. Maybe in another 10 years I can look back and see the history of how I helped create a better life for my son through hard work and tears. 

I certainly hope so anyway. 

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The Dating Game

I’m going to be single the rest of my life, I swear to god. Well, at least for the next 8 years. I am fully prepared to be a cat lady, and love those little fur babies ‘til kingdom come. They need me and give sugars and don’t ask me to cook dinner or do sex things when I don’t want to. It’s worth it to me to be the cat lady on the block. 

Dating in 2016 officially sucks. I tried online dating this year and somewhat failed, even though I did find a guy to call my boyfriend for a few months. I’m not anywhere close to ready to start dating again, and here’s why: people suck. 

We live in an age where the American culture celebrates hookups and hoes, with apps like Tinder and such - swipe, fuck, leave. Right? Gone are the days of genuinely getting to know someone, learning the ins and outs of their personality and interests and how you fit together. No more romance, no more melding of lives - just pure, unadulterated ‘who gives a shit’ and I can’t stand it. 

I’m not like that. Sure, I played the ‘who is in my bed tonight’ game once upon a time...when I had low self-esteem. Back then, any attention was good attention but no one wanted me for who I was - they wanted me because I was free sex. Once I gave in to that sad fact, I gained self-respect and some self-esteem but I’m still not 100%. 

To be honest, I’m scared to start dating again. There is a 10-year-old boy at home who suffered through the traumatic loss of the only thing he had ever known as family and I can’t put him through such an ordeal again.  I don’t want to bring random men around, or hide my relationship with someone. The next man that comes into my life has to know that I am a woman and a mother, and that the two can’t be separated. I am not someone’s sex doll. I am not someone’s free ride. I am not going to fully support another functioning male that refuses to work. 

I don’t want to be used, abused and thrown away. When I start to date again, it will be because I want to share my life with another human being who has the ability to understand me and my flaws and accepts me as such. I will not allow any man to change who I am because it makes them uncomfortable; if someone can’t appreciate me for me, then don’t let the door hit ya on the way out. 

I am beautiful. I am brave. I am strong. I am courageous. 

I am lonely. I am depressed. I am anxious. I am weak. 

I have self-love. I have self-respect. I have self-esteem. 

I have self-doubt. I have self-hatred.

I am loving. I am caring. I am kind. I am sensual. I am romantic. 

I am many, many things in this life but one thing I’m not is dispensable, and I refuse to be treated as such. Let no man try to break my spirit, for I am wild and untamed at heart! Hear me cry out, and catch me when I fall, for I am a colorful rainbow that shimmers across the sky but will eventually fade...but not from memory. 

Do they make a dating app for that?

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On Writing

I love writing, I really do. When people ask me what I do in life, I say I’m a freelance write...and an office administrator. I’ve written and made a short-lived career out of it, and still write on a casual basis. Starting out slow to get back in the game, that’s one of the reasons I blog. 

I have thoughts from time to time about being a writer, wanting to get into it all the way again, but...I’m scared. I used to have such self-confidence about writing but now I’m doubting all of my abilities. Can I hack it again? I’m scared of failing before I even begin.

This self-doubt is a little unlike me, but then again...everything I do lately doesn’t feel quite like me doing it. Anyway, I pinpointed tonight where this overwhelming fear of failure comes from: Facebook writing groups. 

 I joined this group called Ninja Writers a little while ago thinking I could get some ideas and have some support in my endeavors. It’s a very positive, supportive group but...it’s made me realize that I’m sorely lacking in the mindset these people share. I don’t have post-it notes with ideas all over the place, nor do I have a dedicated writing space; I write wherever I’m comfortable. I don’t have white boards and special writing pens and plot books and a 20-step course on how to write at my handy disposal. 

I’m judging myself against their success and this is not good for my self-esteem. As selfish as it sounds, I don’t need to congratulate complete strangers on their publishing or Amazon success. I don’t need to see writing shacks and kitty cats cutely encroaching on a writing space (although mine do it all the time). I don’t need to hear about the latest thriller or fantasy novel, or to give ideas to another writer on their MC, or participate in cutesy lingo like “pantster.” 

To be honest, I’m not that kind of writer and I don’t feel comfortable sharing my ideas with the world while they’re in development. These writing groups just aren’t for me right now at this point in my healing, the point where I’m establishing an identity again. I can’t be influenced by someone else’s modicum of success. Just saying all of that out loud makes my soul feel a little lighter, which signifies  I’m learned something about myself and will be making change accordingly. 

And I’m a writer, goddammit!

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The struggles of being a mom

When I was growing up I never wanted to have children. I prided myself on never playing ‘house’ and keeping steadfast in my decision to never procreate. I was going to travel the world, alone, the princess of my own domain...but life didn’t turn out that way. 

After a failed pregnancy in 2005, I was determined more than ever not to have children. 10 months later, however, my Gran spoke to me and told me that I needed to have a child, and the time had to be now. Gran passed away in 1997, but when she speaks I listen. She had the benefit of being on the Other Side and seeing my path in life clearer than I ever could, so I took her up on it and had a child. More than that, I felt her want for me clearly, deep down in my soul, and knew that my life was going to branch off into a path I hadn’t intended on in my journey. 

My pregnancy was difficult and I was glad when it was over. When I held my son for the first time I felt a mix of confusion, tiredness, apathy and happiness. I was still in shock I had managed to create a tiny human of my own and felt completely overwhelmed with the responsibilities in front of me. I was 25 and felt wholly unprepared. 

And I was. My relationship with his father quickly fell apart and I was a single mom before he turned 2. But I had someone small that depended on me so I found out that I was a lot stronger than I had ever thought I was. I have worked in some shape or form almost consistently since he was born; everything I have now is from hard work. 

The reason I’m bringing this up is this: every day I wake up I love my son, but some times I don’t always like him. I try very hard to instill in him morals and values and how to be a good person, but he’s at that age now where I can’t always be responsible for his decisions. Some days I regret listening to Gran and becoming a mother, and other times I can’t imagine myself as anything but. The struggle is real and honest and painful and tough, but there are also times when being a mother is the most rewarding thing I could have ever thought to be. 

My son is going to be a bleeding skeleton for Halloween, so I don’t know how well I’ve done parenting him in the right direction with that one, but he’s happy about it and that’s all that matters. 

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Too much death

I live in a small town of about 1,600 people or so, and recently death has been very prevalent. On Sunday, a 16-year-old boy died in a car crash - his father was the first responder who found him. Last night, a teacher from the same high school in town passed away. 

This morning, my son found a kitty in the road outside our house who looked like he had become paralyzed. I think his back was broken, to be honest. My son freaked out, which is quite understandable. He saw the cat was still breathing and moving its eyes and implored me to do something. But what can I do...except tell him there was nothing to be done. Once an animal breaks its back, I explained, putting it out of its misery is really the only option we have. 

That was not a good answer for him and the tears started to pour. He went back to the kitty and touched it to comfort it. The kitty reflexed his arms but couldn’t move. I called the police and held my son and let him cry as hard as he wanted, but I was crying, too. My heart was broken into a million pieces as I heard him wail, “I want to bring some comfort to the kitty before he dies, Mom!” I didn’t want 7:30 in the morning on a crisp fall day to be the time he learned about death up close. 

But there’s never a good time for these lessons, is there? 

The kitty passed away on his own before noon but my son was at the babysitter’s house and didn’t know. The police never showed up to help so her husband took care of the kitty the best he could, I suppose. My son is a little sad but he’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. The kitty will be in a better place now and he’ll be okay, too. 

But too much death has touched our lives this week and it’s incredibly overwhelming to someone who has an empathic touch. I feel emotions so acutely and everyone I encounter is carrying a piece of sorrow in their pocket. It hurts my soul, it burdens my heart, like I have the weight of a thousand deaths on me.

Tomorrow brings the start of the weekend and a respite from the drudgery of this week, which I welcome. I need rest, and to start the healing process all over again. 

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What is happy?

When I finished the last day of my 30-day selfie journey on Monday, I thought the picture quest for the next 30 days would be something simple - snap a pic of one thing that makes me happy every day. The point was to step outside my head and look at the external world, to find things in my life that bring me joy. 

But I don’t feel like I’m ready for that quite yet. Instead, the exercise had made me think exceedingly hard about this question: what is happy, and what does it mean to me? 

‘Happy’ is an adjective, and a relative one at that; it doesn’t mean the same thing for everyone. Some people find happiness when their dog greets them at the end of the day, or when the smell of fresh-brewed coffee wiggles up their nose first thing in the morning. Other times, people tend to attach a tangible meaning to the word - money, cars, houses, watches, clothes. Happy is a feeling, but to aptly discern a time during your day when you can definitely say, “Yes! This thing/feeling/person makes me feel happy!” ...that takes a little more work. 

So my goal this week has been to find a definition of ‘happy’ and apply it to my life. Food makes me happy. So do cats and other baby animals...and not-so baby animals. Sex makes me feel good, but I don’t know if it’s necessarily happy. Waking up makes me happy, as I know I was given the gift of another day. 

And that’s it right there: every day is a gift, which is why it’s called the present. Every day you wake up and open your eyes and take a breath is a blank slate for you to write the story of the day. It’s not so you can re-write the chapters that have already been told, or to speculate on futurism to the point of forgetting about the now. No, today was given to you so you can write down your life, your thoughts, your feelings, your ‘happy.’ Or sad. Or melancholy, or angry. Reality only takes the shape you give it, so why not mold it into something positive for your life? 

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: I know it’s hard to be who you want to be 100% of the time. We all have times where we struggle with our identity, our wants and fears and desires. This life, as far as we know it, is the only one we’ll have - do you want to spend it living in the past and not pushing forward to be better every single day? 

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The Energy Shift

October 16th saw a rare super moon in Aries, which meant there was a huge energy shift for everyone in the world. For those of us empathic enough to physically and emotionally feel it, it could seriously rock your boat. I know it has rocked mine! 

I don’t know what this means for me, though. I can tell you that I’m feeling weepier than usual, and have more pains in my heart when I see and hear humanity treating each other without kindness. In essence, it’s like I can feel more than I did before but it’s not necessarily a good thing. At least...not right now. 

My work on healing needs to always begin from within, and I took yesterday off from blogging so I could experience what this energy inside me means. I’m still not sure. I was pretty good with my temper yesterday and I didn’t cry when I wanted to...but for the most part, I just feel numb. My gut instinct tells me that this is my body’s way of protecting my mind while I heal, while I go through the metamorphosis to become a beautiful butterfly inside my cocoon. 

I just hope it doesn’t stay this way forever, or even really too much longer. Feeling emotional pain on a more acute level doesn’t suit me well. 

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Days 29 and 30

This is the 30th day of my 30-day project. On September 18th, I woke up deciding that I would take back control of my life from depression. I had hit rock bottom the day before and I knew I could no longer let the depression mold me into who I had become. So, for the next 30 days I vowed to take a picture when I felt like I was the most 'me' I could be. This was extremely difficult at first because I didn't recognize who I was anymore. Then I noticed that, over time, I no longer struggled so hard to identify myself in my own body. I came to accept that the mask depression gave me was slowly fading away and I was showing my new, naked self to the world again. Warts and all. This has been by far the stupidest and bravest thing I've done by myself in a long time...maybe ever. I've managed to kill myself while still being alive to see the rebirth into the future. Does this mean I've healed and am completely normal, fine and healthy of mind? Hardly. I'm probably 20% better than I was before I started this...and I'm hesitant to go as high as that. I still have a long, long way to go, but the important thing is that I've learned to listen to myself so I can start to confront the difficult things I've been hiding for so long. An honest conversation with myself, if you will. So. This concludes the 30-day portion of the healing journey but I'm not done yet. The next 30 days will consist of stepping outside of my head into the world, requiring me to take a picture every day of something that makes me happy. Let's go!

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Day 30

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Day 28! Almost there.