When I look back on all the writing I did those years I was trying to “find myself” I notice that there’s a vulnerability in the breaking down of a person. I wrote from such honest spaces, it’s cathartic to read them again. Re-member those moments that I felt alive in the newness of small, but calculated decisions. I found bliss in the smallest things. I gave myself permission to make big mistakes, and then I wrote about them- lit by the glow of my phone screen, I blogged endlessly trying to understand my patterns of toxicity.
I realize the last time I blogged about my relationship on here was my 26th birthday. I’ve had 3 rotations with Ed by my side since. I turned to writing in a journal again that first year, then started a blog on my website. By accident I typed in WordPress and remembered this space. I’ve talked about how I want to take these poems and ramblings and make a book. The title keeps changing, but what feels more appropriate these days is the countdown to my 30th.
Maybe 25-30 is the winner.
