Closing My 21st Chapter

I’ve been an alarming amount of different people since I turned 18 (how Gavin has loved all of them, I don’t know, but I love him even more for it). Some stages and decisions I’m proud of. Some I am not. But through it all, I’ve shifted and molded into who I am today, and I love her so much. And I love my life. And I love who I’m becoming and where I’m going.

I finally feel like I’m who I was meant to be all along. I’m finally happy with my belief system- even though I know who I am and what I believe is fluid and susceptible to change. I know I’m doing my best with the knowledge and experience that I have at this point in time.

I’m finally happy with my career after several changes. Can we stop expecting high schoolers who have to ask permission to do anything to suddenly be functioning adults with critical thinking skills that know what they want to do until they’re 65? That’s another convo for another day. I edited my first book (someone else’s book, not mine, I’m not there yet), which was huge for me going forward and getting new clients.

I did all of the hard work this last year. I started going to therapy. For some reason, I’m afraid to admit that. Who am I kidding, I know the reason. I’m working on breaking the stigma surrounding getting help for your mental health- even if it’s only within my own circle of reach. If I can encourage someone to get help and it stops them from passing on generational trauma, I want to.

I’ve apologized to myself for constantly expecting me to be further in life and not just letting myself be where I am. I’ve forgiven myself for the times that I didn’t see how much I have to offer. I’ve let go of the things that happened to me that had no reflection on who I was or what I deserved. I’m only responsible for me and what I can control.

I was able to text my counselor 2 weeks ago to say, “Can we cancel my appointment? I’m running out of things to say.” I know that’s a good thing because I’ve gotten everything off of my chest, and I’m free to breathe now. I don’t have to keep reliving it. 

Maybe this was TMI for a birthday post and more than anyone asked for, but I thought about sharing it in a social media caption and didn’t, so I really did try to spare you. I’m working on sharing more of the me that I’ve become in private. So even though I’ll probably have anxiety and cringe at how much I overshared and under proofread when I’m trying to sleep tonight, and maybe for months to come, I have peace knowing that I did what I felt was best for me today. That’s all we can do until our last day.

I Am a Writer.

Writ•er

noun

  • A person who writes books, stories, or articles as a job or regular occupation.

I believe there’s a reason behind nearly everything that we do. Whether it was meeting a social expectation or wanting to impress someone, I’ve done little in my life that was about nothing and no one but me.

Writing is one of the few things I can say I’ve always been passionate about and done for myself.

I’ve found glittery notebooks that my first grade self filled with ramblings of zoo trips and what my mom bought at the grocery store that day. I love seeing how deeply ingrained my need to express myself in this way is.

From as young as age six, I’ve always been very private about my writing. I kept this side of myself tucked away and almost never shared it with anyone.

This is why I never considered writing becoming a career of mine.

Writing’s the only way I’ve ever known how to be vulnerable with no masks, no filter, no standards, and no judgment. I thought my words would lose their value if I shared them with everyone, and I was afraid of not being able to take something personal back once said. I didn’t want my hobby that I enjoy so much to become another responsibility to check off or a deadline to meet.

I didn’t know how to make money from writing in a world that tells us we’re unqualified for basically everything without a degree.

It didn’t feel realistic or doable, so I never pursued it.

Notice one excuse after the other.

After two years of confusion about who I’m supposed to be, what I want to do, or where I’m supposed to start, I realized I wasn’t doing myself any favors by squashing my gift.

I started saying more and more that I would like to be a writer, but I was still fearful and doubting myself. I thought some other form of myself with a more exciting life to talk about could do that. I didn’t believe I was ready or that I had anything to say that would interest anyone.

“Do something today that your future self will thank you for.”

After some time, I decided I don’t want to wait until the perfect opportunity arises. I want this for myself and I want it today. I started calling myself a writer. I started telling people that I am one. I’ve begun speaking into existence what I can see God has been speaking over me my whole life. I feel myself coming into my purpose and morphing into who I’m meant to be. I’ve never felt more like myself.

Sometimes, I still lose eye contact and my voice sounds less sure than usual when I tell someone that I’m a writer. I don’t know what they’ll think of me or if they’ll understand how that can be true. But when I envision a life for myself that I truly love, writing is a big part of that picture, and I don’t want to jeopardize it because of the fear of starting.

I’ve realized it doesn’t matter if someone sees me as unqualified and I decided I don’t need affirmation or permission, from anyone. I don’t need to go to school for what feels like the most natural thing I’ve ever done. Getting out of my comfort zone and getting over myself has been so freeing.

I decided that I am a writer. I was a writer before anyone had the chance to read my work, and I’ll still be one even if no one ever does.

I know I won’t be entirely comfortable and confident in my abilities overnight, and I know I still have so much to learn. I don’t know what my niche is or where I want to end up, but I’ve started taking baby steps in the right direction and I’ve never been more proud of myself.

Imagine your ideal life five years from now. What are you doing? Where are you? Who are you with?

Now, what are you doing to get there? Are you working towards it a little each day? Are you believing that you’ll end up there?

Start today by calling yourself what you want to be in the future. Speak it over your life. Say it every day until you believe it so much that it’s inevitably what you will be.