I haven’t had much time to prepare for turning thirty, but I need to make time, and one of the things I’ve learned is that sometimes the best way to make myself do something I’m not really sure I want to do is to just start doing it (I know, Freud would have a field day with that). So, I spent three minutes reading about how to create a blog, created a username and blog address, and here we are.
In thirty one days I turn thirty. Starting tomorrow, I will write one post each day until my birthday. I’m not exactly sure what that will look like, but we will find out together.
I have always loved to write, but as I got older, my insecurities started to really get in the way, whether in the form of fear of making a mistake, or a fear of revealing too much. Some of those fears are legitimate, some are manufactured, but all become overblown in my own mind to the point of paralysis. To avoid that issue, once published, I am not going to edit (not even the obnoxious grammatical errors). I am also not going to apologize for what I write, because, at the risk of sounding like “one of those people,” I am writing my truth.
And I am. I am writing my truth, hoping that maybe my truth will help someone else, and hoping the act of bravely speaking my truth will help me. I was not blessed with younger sisters by blood, but I am fortunate enough to have two by choice, and maybe my own daughters and sons will find this helpful one day, if only to better understand their own lives. Selfishly, I also need an excuse to take a breath. The past ten years have been exceptionally full, and before I start a larger writing project exploring those years more thoroughly, I need a starting point. Taking the time to do this is a kind of birthday present to myself.