At the beginning of my last relationship, I decided to write a blog about finding balance while in a romantic relationship.
But I never did.
Because I never found balance.
Almost two weeks ago when the relationship ended, I decided to write about it again.
But I haven’t.
Because it takes me ages to write, rewrite, tweak and then start all over again. Twice. Three times. Because my writing never seems to be as witty or eloquent as all the other people who put their words out into the world. And comparison is a bitch. Also, a killjoy. I’m finally understanding it isn’t perfection that’s important. Getting these feelings outside of my body is important. Writing is the only way I’ve ever been able to clearly articulate what I’m feeling. (I’m going to be working on that with my new therapist this year.)
In the meantime, maybe you’ll enjoy my musings. Maybe you’ll hate them. Maybe you’ll read each word nodding in agreement, and sign up for my newsletter to follow along closely. Maybe you’ll unsubscribe immediately.
It doesn’t matter. (Not to be confused with “I don’t care,” because deep down we all know validation from others feels f*cking awesome.) But it doesn’t matter because for the first time in my life, I’m not doing this for anyone else. And I’m not going to try so damn hard to be perfect. To be everything to everyone. (Note: I’m crying actual as I type this sentence.)
Writing helps me to process my emotions. Thus far, sharing some of these icky feelings on Instagram has been therapeutic. And from your feedback, it seems to be relatable + even therapeutic for some of you too.
So here I am. Offering these unedited pieces of myself in all my wounded-but-healing glory.
I hope they help you. But mostly, I hope they help me.