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I read the things I wrote seven years ago and I laugh/cringe.  Eight years as a therapist has taught me to guard myself, don’t allow too much of my personality to come through because I wouldn’t want a client to stumble across this and discover that I may be just as much of a hot mess, if not more, than they are.  That being said, I come back here knowing that I’ve not written one thing in seven years.  Why then, I ask, do I darken the blog doorstep once again?  I miss writing.  I miss how it made me feel.  I miss being able to express myself with a visual narrative that only my brain can create.  I miss being authentic and inspired and unabashedly me.

Even now, as I write this, I struggle to find the right words to express exactly how I feel.  Sure, I write every day but it’s rote and clinical and contains words like “processed” and “normalized”.  It flows but it doesn’t flow from me.  That part of me that I’ve unwittingly suppressed so that I could present this mentally well-balanced individual to the world.  Guess what?  You can be mentally well-balanced and still be that unique, clever, un-vanilla person you are.