It has been over a year since my last entry. I faced a huge season of growth (and writer’s block). I did a lot of hard things. I made a lot of hard choices, some seemingly minute while others quite large. I felt afraid to utter my advice, recipes, diy’s, and thoughts on mental health or health in general. I thought who am I to offer anything to anyone when I myself am still coming to grips of my own life? What makes me an authority on any subject? I was defeated by the narratives of my anxiety feeding me false information about my worth. I was nervous about the trajectory of this blog and its content. My brain was circuiting through thoughts such as- “What is your blog even about? No one is going to even read what you have to say. Everyone has a blog. Everyone has something to say. What is so special about yours?” These thoughts really lead me to decipher- Do I have to reinvent the wheel here? Or do I just continue to be authentically myself and write about what ever is on my heart? Do I need to stay in one single lane category- food, health, etc? How do I pick one? Am I allowed to talk about mental health whilst recovering? Then I came to terms with the idea of acceptance, just as I learned through recovery from OCD, this negative self-talk is a misfiring of thoughts from faulty circuitry within my brain intending to stop me from doing what I really want/should be doing. Instead of listening to, finding meaning from, or chasing these thoughts away now I do my best to establish vacancy for any and all thoughts- good or bad. I make room for those thoughts and welcome them in the same way I made room for my obsessions. For the simple fact of, they don’t have to control me or stop me. I say, “Oh hello, thank you for stopping by. I appreciate your intentions to keep me safe, but I got this.” I am certain that these thoughts are what I let control my choice of not stepping back in to the blog world, but I am the author of this life and I decided that I get to write the next chapter.
Writing has been a great love of mine since I was quite young, in fact, I’d argue it was the first thing I ever felt I had a niche for. My sister would hand me barbies and at my disinterest I would ask for paper and any form of a writing mechanism, even though I did not know how to read or write. I was so proud to show my mom all of my “E-E’s”, which is what I called writing. It was the only letter I knew how to recreate and while to others it was simply a collection of scribbled e’s all over printer paper, to me they told stories. In elementary school, I often received academic achievement awards in language arts and writing categories. In high school, I created a blog filled of love notes and stories I stored in my heart for the boy of that time. In college, I have nailed almost every paper and at times I lack humility in recieving an A when I started the paper the night before it was due. I try my best to keep my feet down on the Earth, and remember not to take it for granted because every now and then I will enounter a woeful awakening- writer’s block. I am under the impression like most things, if you don’t use it you lose it. I lost it for a while, and am learning how to cultivate within me the things I feel I lack, just like Tupac Shakur’s “The Rose That Grew From Concrete” that highlights the theme of blooming where you’re planted, no matter where that may be.
The next blog post I plan on sharing is a story that I have been wanting to share for some time, but had to conjur up courage to do so. I will be sharing my own OCD story. I have a couple hopes in doing this. I want to shed light upong a highly stigmatized disorder explaining what it is and is not from personal experience. I also want it to possibly encourage someone else to seek help for any and all mental health issues that they may be facing. I want my OCD story to start a conversation. Maybe my one story, will unleash another’s need to reach out for help, or share theirs with others.