Erratically put together, is a badge I wear with honor. I accredit my new bio description to my therapy sessions. Mainly journaling. Growing up the middle child (middle child syndrome is real yall) I needed to find avenues to vent my constant frustration and faux vengeful thoughts. I did everything from eat my feelings, to playing an instrument, to drowning my thoughts in endless hours of mindless T.V. (welcome to the 90’s). Listened to angry grunge music; “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was my anthem. Finally, because I’d exhausted every other option, I started to write. What did I write? Anything. Everything. It didn’t matter so long as it stayed true to my thoughts and feelings at that moment. Honest. Raw.
After my first entry, I felt calm. Thinking it was a fluke, I didn’t write again until the next time I needed to get something off my chest. Elated once again. Thus a pattern began. I began to live for my writing sessions. But now I looked forward to writing not just about the bad but about the good, the mediocre, the boring, my crush(es), you name it!
The greatest part was that I didn’t actually understand the growth that was happening to me until many years later when I’d go back and read my entries. Writing became my therapy. It was the way I’d cope with major moments in my life. There’s something to be said about being able to write out feelings before confronting the problem.
So! As a part of my overall self-remodeling, I’m going back to basics. Picked up this beauty at Target and ready to channel my inner Bridget Jones. #shenanigrams
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