My Gosh, Stop Apologizing and Just Give It Time: An Unexpected Note to Self

Ground Me

By way of pen to paper and rain, soaking through my wool sweater.

I stretch my arms up and wide, thinking of the yoga mat a few feet away — is that what I need? Turning my attention to anything that moves, eyes wanting to write this and that, doing my best to catch the thoughts before they pour from every corner of these past few months. 

Failed attempts. 

I feel the need to apologize, all the time. Why is that?

Read More
When Wellness + Self Care Make You Feel Like You Aren’t Enough, Redefining What It Means to Be Badass + Writing a Book

I wasn't planning to come on here and write a post or publish a story until after the More Than Lyme Adventure, but here I am. Funny how that goes. I suppose I was craving something more personal. You know, less detailed planning and more of a non-restrictive creative source.

At the beginning of the month, I told myself I would have three stories published. There haven't been any posts since the end of January.

At the beginning of the month, I told myself I would have started side project A, B, and C. I dabbled in C, but it just wasn't happening. 

Read More
What More Than Lyme Really Stands for + Why You Are Encouraged to Fill In the Blank

Never once did I think I would share this much. To dig a little deeper, reach a little further, and try, each time, to open up just a little bit more about the ideas, projects, adventures, values, and endeavors that are important to me. 

It usually takes a lot of persuasion on my part to sit down and write - it's not until later that I feel what some might call the flow. But at first? I am met with nothing but resistance. Resistance and at least five cups of tea in procrastination of, well, this. 

Good news, the tea is happily brewing next to me, so we can continue on without any further delays. 

Read More
Yes, You Are a Writer: A Message to the Seemingly Unattainable Goal + Why You Already Have Everything You Need to Attain It

I'm separating myself from the things I’ve written, occasionally allowing a scan through the words, picking up a few sentences here and there. Convincing myself that whatever emotions and experiences I was able to get through then, I wouldn’t be able too now. 

In a way, the person who wrote that doesn’t feel like me. Sure, if I allowed myself to read through I’d find a remarkable similarity, but at the present, I don’t. I sit at a distance, never giving myself the pleasure of getting to know the person at the other end.

Maybe I’ve told myself too many times that it’s an unattainable dream, to be a writer. 

Read More
Dropping the Expectations of 2018: Recounting Three Days of Anxiety Ridden Thoughts, a Shattered Projection, and Establishing Myself in the Wildness of Things

My hand moves beneath the glossy scene before me; fascinated by the reflection that blankets my body, one more clear than the soft glow of the candle sitting on the slippery ledge, I curl my hand upwards, and like a statue it holds steady, causing the glossy scene to give way to a harsher, more disturbed state. 

I feel that there is no comfortable way to say this. No clear, feather-like melody that I can project in order for you to understand, but go ahead, let us nod in agreement, because what else are we to do? 

Read More
Let's Talk About Depression: A Birthday Turned Breakdown, Ambitions to Run 26 Miles, and Speaking Your Truth, No Matter Who's Listening

I cup the sunshine in my hands, tilting my fingers and palms forward and back while watching the shadows dance across my skin. 

It's the day after my birthday, I'm sporting puffy eyes and a tired and slow-moving demeanor. Thoughts are sluggish, each movement was taken with deliberate and careful consideration, while small practices of self-love stand in stark contrast to yesterday's affairs. 

Read More