…like how depressed I felt up until April. You may not believe me, but 2013 brought with it so many doubts about myself and my life and my talents. It’s hard for me to believe that I was still trying to find myself in January and February. I still struggle with my choices, my body, and wonder everyday if I’m getting through to people, including you. Including Ethan. I admit at our one year mark of marriage so many new bumps–things I felt I didn’t have the patience or strength for– left me feeling like our honeymoon was not only over, but long gone. We are still learning. But, depending on him while I am actively pursuing my writing has been the biggest internal struggle for me. Mostly because I never thought it would be possible for me to do it. He has to learn that I feel guilty, and I have to learn to stop feeling guilty. There are many people who have not supported me in my decision, or even acknowledged it. People close to me, mind you. I’ve wanted to burst into tears, puke my guts out, just thinking about taking the next steps…it’s been hard enough for me without the added criticism. I feel so blessed however that Ethan and I were able to regroup in the place we feel most like ourselves, and as winter melts into spring, I know the melancholy is leaving me. I’m trying to let things happen and at the same time, make things happen.
…like how my manuscript is the only book I’ve ever finished. I used to start stories all the time; they would bubble up inside of me and putting them on paper felt so natural. In high school, I’d write scenarios to things I dreamed would happen to me, the ultimate form of wishful thinking. In college, before classes would start, I’d lace together descriptive paragraphs that had no purpose but passing the time. I know I have too many to keep track of or even try to hunt down now that I am thinking of them, but no matter the story, I never got past their half-way marks. I know I got too caught up in the details, or altogether distracted, so they are left unfinished…the loose ends of my creativity. That’s why I still squeal and pinch myself when I realized I completed and named my manuscript. I started with a simple idea, fleshed it out chapter by chapter, and wrote “the end.” I have played around with the idea of sharing with you some of my unfinished smatterings…I know I have a few lying around even here. But showing you those would be terrifying, and I don’t know if I’m ready.
…like how I’m trying to become my truest outward self and only just realizing its an ongoing process. For so long, I bit my nails and tweezed my brows. For what? I was only making it harder on myself. Because the more I bite my nails, the more I hate how they look. And the more I tweeze my inherently bushy brows, the more work and pain I subject to my face. It’s vicious and it’s cruel and it needs to stop. I know I’m not a high-maintenance person, or better yet, I wish to be a low-maintenance person, so fighting the natural aspects of me is a waste of energy and time. Not to mention that I chopped my hair because I thought it’d be more me, when now I just really miss wearing my go-to ponytail. So just know, I’m working on accepting my natural beauty and letting my hair grow…and if you see me out don’t judge me by my eyebrows, because they will look gnarly for a good long while. As a side-note, my nails are currently long and strong, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. I never understood that when I was younger.
…and there’s more…so much more…