Writing.

I’ve been doing quite a lot of it, just not so much here. It’s a new realization, and one I go back and forth with, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the fact that I have dramatically changed the way I process things that are going on in my life. Part of it is obviously having Richard – even though it’s only an hour a week, it’s dedicated time that I know is there solely for that purpose. I think part of it too, though, is that I’ve been journaling again, and trying to find my own answers rather than putting all of my questions out to friends or boards or other resources I’ve often relied on in the past. It isn’t because I no longer trust or value those people, but because I’m beginning to trust and value my own insight and advice. I’m finding that, when I open myself to the possibility that I know what’s best for me – and only me, which gives me more clarity and emotional energy – I don’t need to do so much external processing. Don’t get me wrong, there are absolutely still times when I text one of my best friends to request some immediate support or an intervention, hours during which I question my choices and feel as though I shouldn’t even be allowed to pick my own clothes, let alone make any important decision, all of that still happens on occasion. But not as often. And a lot of it is because of the writing I’m doing all over the place. It really is my truest form of therapy, and I learn so much. From me. Cuz I’m a pretty smart kid. At least, most of the time.


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