a world of individuals

I contemplated writing here again. Do I create a new blog from scratch to complete anonymity? Does writing even help me process or think? Who is my audience: if only me, do I just create a traditional writing journal?

But typing is easier and the world is a hot mess and I feel like I've made a bit of progress on my well-being. I also feel like I'm in a new headspace where I can shove away most of the negative talk (BYE, Jack!) by recentering myself when those scaries start to creep back in. And in the end I began writing for myself and in 2026 I want to allow myself to center my own well being and writing has always been something I come back to.

But where to start?

I finally landed on what I really seek: Intimacy. The nights I find myself lonely I don't crave some wild rendezvous in a back of a theatre or in some office space but instead: a shoulder to lean my head on. A gentle hand on my leg or someone to rest against watching a movie. Listening to their day and all the details including the chips they had for lunch. Feeling 'safe,' for me in life has often felt like a field trip to Oz: great and exciting in theory, but more of a fairytale. My therapist reminds me that meeting new people becomes easier with time and I find myself confident that when the time comes for me to establish my boundaries that I could do that, too. My self love has blossomed this year in understanding that I am worthy and capable of finding love and security. It's not a narcissistic trait for me to recognize I'm someone who still needs to grow in many areas but at my core I am a loving and kind person who generally means well.

Last week I made an Uber driver cry just by simple connection. He was from Somalia and older, had been frightened of driving lately in case a rider didn't like his accent and decided to retaliate or make hateful remarks. He told me about family that had been mistreated and the stark reality of escaping civil war as a refugee only to be a person targeted for the perceived crime of wanting to take advantage of the American dream. He was scared. He loves this country but was on edge with each person he picked up. I pulled out one of the spare cards I had on person that listed our rights as occupants of the US on a wallet-sized business card.

He told me of his published writing and hobbies and more. By the end he was crying and thanking me for the simple act of listening and being kind. He even asked me to call my parents (i wasn't going to get into that it was a mom who often ignored me and a grandma because the sentiment was all the same) and tell them my new friend Bizu said they did a wonderful job raising me.

And all I did was what I consider to be basic manners and human decency: Asked about him and how he was, empathized with his lived experience, acknowledged understanding of why many in his black community would have distrust of white people, and gave him a card to know his rights. But in those fifteen minutes he was wiping away tears and I was, too. How beautiful is connection to strangers?

 Someone once told me: if you run into multiple people who are delightful, maybe you're delightful yourself.

It took a long time but I now accept that my natural inclination to see the best in people and understand them is not echoed amongst all others. In fact this trait has often put me in difficult positions where I will bend over backwards to excuse ill behaviour because every person has a reason for their actions. At times it doesn't justify bad actions but I understand underneath it all there's a human and story underneath. I told my sister recently how my therapist laughed at the most recent time I asked her if I was a narcissist and listed all the criteria that I did not meet. My sister then told me how it was almost endearing how often I worried I was but it's such a deeply implemented idea that it was still challenging to believe all the healthcare professionals. decades of accepted “truths” take time to unlearn.

even now writing that old voice is calling out deep in my mind: youre arrogant for thinking positively of yourself. youre a narcissist for self love. youre not focusing on all the ways that youre a bad person enough and look at all the people youve harmed before? how can you think positively when you’ve hurt others therefore you should only ever feel pain.

but i've been working on myself a lot and I'm proud that I can try to give myself the grace i so easily give others. i recognize how my habit of daily rumination was more harmful and accomplished nothing but to shove me deeper inside the hole of despair. I recognize the voice i often listened to wasn't actually my own but the voice that had raised me and accepted I as truth just because it came from a guardian.

I'm ugly: to who? what makes someone 'ugly,' and would I describe anyone else that way? I'm unintelligent: is it because I don't have a degree? or because i stumble over my words? i've been able to get myself to a decent spot in my career - have lived independently for years and moved away from a town that no longer fed my soul and I continue to be self-sufficient. Sometimes to a fault. But I've had ideas that have blossomed in different workplaces and am able to breakdown problems to find potential resolves. If I were stupid - could I do that?

And the big ol' nugget: I'm unlovable and shouldn't even try to create relationships (romantic or otherwise) because X person will realize I'm (insert bad thing here) and leave anyway.

The abandonment wound. My therapist had me watch this video called The Lifelong Effect of Not Being Loved as Child, and while it made me sob to watch it hit in a way that I needed: No longer did I feel like I was inherently broken and damaged and was at fault for the mother and three father figures who left me by 16. No longer was I at fault for not being good enough as a child where I deserved all the pain and ridicule and blaming for simply telling the school reporters the truth. And most importantly: I wasn't alone. That was equally as challenging and I immediately thought of the people in my life who seemed to share that same wound. It hurt so badly to think of them and the others that experienced pain so why was to so easy to accept that I was the outlier who deserved it?

Children deserve to have love, nuturing and stability. Being poor wasn't the problem it was the neglect. Being houseless wasn't the problem, it was the prioritization of drugs, cigarettes, alcohol over the stability of a child. Myself, a child - wasn't to blame. My father wasn't to blame - he made the (right) choice to never be a part of my life and that was for the best. He couldn't be present or loving and I hope he has found the peace and wellness in his own body and mind for himself and his chosen loved ones.

 My mom? This is an ongoing sturggle that often puts me at odds with my sisters. In ways I still cling to a fantasy that may likely never happen: that if I do enough, if I am successful enough, if I find the right partner and have children, if i'm understanding enough - that I will receive that unconditional love. I know my mom loves me but I also understand she was not provided the unconditional love to learn from. I understand that she was abused in ways so deplorable and horrific that it shaped her own life and adolescence. She found comfort and coping in ways that were ultimately incredibly harmful but gave her that momentarily illusion of relief and joy. She was herself a child having children and she herself did not deserve the cards she was dealt. She never had that reckless freedom a young adult usually would to figure themselves out and learn and adapt. Instead she had two kids all on her own while she stood on the rug full of demons and soil that she was taught to ignore.

And her mom, my grandma? A repeated story. My mom was raised around the same substance abuse I was and to a greater extent from what I've been told. Coupled with the abuse from her father and all on her own? Not even a sister or brother to seek comfort and solidarity with? To live in foster homes and somehow she was meant to learn healthy habits that she never experienced or was shown herself? So do I blame my grandma for her own mistakes that started the domino generational trauma?

I don't. My grandma herself came from that same trail of shadows. With seven sisters and a brother they watched as their mother stripped naked and attempted to hang herself from a tree in their front yard. They themselves were separated various times to different foster homes and had substance/physical/mental abuse so normalized that it took adulthood to realize it wasn't the same for everyone. My grandma had her own trauma and pain and had dropped out of middle school to work in the fields for coins to feed her own habits of coping.

 So is my great grandmother at fault? Was she the one who tipped the scale? Do I shake my fist to the heavens for being mentally unwell and not providing the unconditional love to grandma that may have changed the course of it all?

I don't. I loved my great grandma for the two decades she was in my life. By the time I had moved in with her after my mom gave up custody temporarily I saw her everyday. She'd be smoking while completing a puzzle - years later the same, but with the added oxygen tank. My grandma cared for her in every way but she'd shake her walker at her or just go down the store aisle farting like the steam from a train. She wasn't particularly loving and to this day I can remember eating ramen noodles each day for lunch and often dinner. I remember my grandma sneaking me a small block of cheese when my great grandma would send us to bed without dinner. 

But my great grandma was also a product of her experience: of unchecked trauma, abuse, neglect, ridicule, pain. Does it justify her missteps? Of course not, just like my own pain doesn't justify my own errors. But what I have come to recognize is how to find a new path: Self love and self care. And I believe that what’s ultimately the shared error: ignoring the traumas and never seeking the help and guidance to a healthier mind. And that’s not to say it was purposeful or a lack of moral character- they weren’t provided the tools or accessibility to care that I’m so grateful to have found.

And their own ways of loving me and seeing all they sacrificed to get by? Thats what has been the motivation: to show them it’s okay to seek help and appreciate the stones they set for me to cross. Im thankful for them, proud of their respective successes, grateful for the care they did give. i’ll always feel sadnesses for their own injustices that forced them to learn how to survive, but I feel I can learn from it. And if I have a child of my own that they can learn from own mistakes and hurdles.

I was the first in my family to graduate high school and despite dropping out, the first accepted into college. A not particular prestigious one, but made the steps at the very least. And despite it being new ground for all of us we at least tried. i had already given up on my ability to be more or worthy of anything more so my twenties became a period of just floating to exist. I'd work, go home, sometimes be with friends - but convince and remind myself i was lucky to even have that so shut myself off to the world.

it has only been in the last few months that i've found some semblance of steps forward. and in my efforts of growth: I'm no longer accepting that i'm too late or too old or too behind to make those steps. i'm no longer hating that I'm not like 'everyone else,' because people and growth aren't monolithic or predicted and timed. i no longer want to take the disapproval of others to dictate whether i keep trying or change myself to appease or fold in defeat. i had grown so used to acceptance of being wrong just by my existence because my mind had trained itself to accept that status quo.

ive accepted that the only way out is to let myself make mistakes, grow, adapt, and continue to challenge those old thoughts.

recently i had a friend from elementary reach out. we had walked together on graduation and spent our early twenties playing drunk Disney Scene It! with friends from the local dive bar. We had done class projects together, spent grad night eating candy on some candy train in Sequim when the rest of our friends were partying with other teens. We were both twins, the younger twins, the twins who were more focused on school than boys (or in my case, and girls) who didnt look our way. We were the teachers pets, the quiet and polite, the kids who couldn't quite find their place to belong.

 but when i moved to the other side of the water we fell out of touch. in the early years i had visited town a lot but closed myself off after a party became some man over me that i had earlier in the night said no to - then fade to black and later wake up bloodied and confused. the shame kept me distant, as i remembered only pieces and the friends that tried to pull him away vs the ones who snickered and went to another room.

so i stopped visiting as often, and she never quite made it out here. i heard from mutual friends how the drinking had become more typical and increasingly more dangerous. she changed her phone number a few times and i struggled to continue to relate to our ever changing lifestyles and it wasn't like my phone had been being pinged either. so just as life moves forward - our friendship faded. if I was in town for a holiday i'd stop by her work for a coffee or we tried to plan a dinner with other friends. We just stopped talking as often and that was okay: i loved her still, and i knew she loved me, too. after all when we did see one another it was like no time passed. we would still nerd out about lord of the rings like we did in the early oughts or reflect on that st. patricks day we stumbled into the deep skating park bowls. it was good.

within the last couple of months she began reaching out, so I made an effort to consistenly engage and reach back as well. she had moved thousands of miles away to paradise with a fiancee and every time we spoke she'd tell me of all the happiness she had been having. i asked her sister about the partner: did we like him? Was he safe? did he make her happy? and it was all a resounding, 'yes,' so i didnt blink twice that he had been nearly twenty years older. they were happy.

except suddenly: things weren't okay. and she had told me issues in the home and her own mental well being. I kept quiet about what she shared with me as she asked, but it became challenging when her messages began to be more concerning. in case anyone i know reads this i'll remain vague - but my goal has since been to make sure I speak to her each day - to remind her she isn't alone, even when she feels like she is.

 and coming full circle: climbing out of that bottomless well. she's become more accepting that seeking therapy would be a good start and ultimately benefit her own well being. our recent talk i was glad to hear her not deny my gentle reminders that ignoring traumatic experience does nothing to resolve the scar that's left after. i've related to her my own experiences in deep depression, and how without professional care that i wouldn't feel more secure in where i now find myself. Or to be frank: that id even be alive.

so maybe all the pain was worth it: if it means creating a space where people feel secure and seen, and that there's strength in knowing when you're not okay and accepting help from professionals whose goal in life is to help others.

 i'm far from being 'fixed' or 'perfect.' i recognize how i crave safety and intimacy but there's still fear in opening myself up completely. days ago I threw paper airplanes to a crowd of seahawks fans and received maybe a dozen texts back. i want to be ready and sometimes i feel that i am - but my biggest issue right now is trust 

ive more recently been messaging and hanging out more with people and have had weekends full where ive been regularly using my calendar to make plans. but with one person in particular there's that fear of: is this friendship or do they think i can be their temporary escape? between the various messages and touches and promises of care I know I shouldn't overthink it or distort what may very well be a simple gesture of kindness. And then each conversation i have in dating apps begins to make me fearful that potential partners would only like me as a secret, a booty call, a temporary platform to rest on while they wait for the one they actually want to be available. Or I fear they’d only keep me around until the next better option, because to feel ‘chosen,’ or loved unconditionally is still something I’m working on. But I know now that I am worthy and capable. So I’ll keep trying until the day my mind accepts: it’s okay. You’re safe, they’re safe- you can breathe. It’s okay.

so there's work to do yet. and i'm okay with that. i know i've made progress. i am no longer listening the loudness of the voice that says i'm unworthy and asking instead: and why? where is that coming from? i've fallen and made mistakes but i keep showing up to therapy and talking to my psychaitrist and even read a book and darn it, i'm doing the darn work. the idea of dating is exciting even if i still have a way to go with trusting the authenticity that the people who say they like or love me actually do. but i also accepted that for me the intimacy is more than just the physical but experiencing real connection in the braveness of vulnerability.

so i'm going to continue the silly cupid events and actually reply to the DMs and texts and invites out because my therapist was right all along: its getting easier with each attempt. and I am worthy just like anyone else is: we're all just humans trying to get by.

 the world is tough enough as it is, at least in this current state of a fascist USA protecting billionaire and elite abusers. but just like with my own well being i am not going to accept something just because its now what we're used to. while i may not be the most articulate i will always stand behind what i believe. and i beleive humanity is beautiful in what makes us different: look different or who we pray to or what’s celebrated or mourned with how we exist in our corners of the earth. I will always be excited to speak to people of different backgrounds to learn more about this world and the cultures that inhabit it. I will always believe the safety and cleanliness of our earth should be piroritized over greed of resources to fill the pockets of an individual few. I will always believe that the only way to peace is to see those who don't look like us and find that common ground and to stop conintually scapegoating the marginalized groups we decide to scapegoat in hopes to distract from true atrocities. be it the jewish, black communities, gaza citizens, the lgbtq+, the folks without access to shelter or education or food, the folks struggling with mental illnesses who sleep on the sidewalks often regarded as lesser than by those given more opportunities in life. i am horrified by the state of this country and those who pretend that it's all okay. we should always unite against injustices no matter what letter they put after their name in a ballot.

so in the midst of all this chaos it has become increasingly more important for me to continue to practice self care for some type of stability. it can become too easy to doomscroll or spiral or wonder what thing i can do to help more. when joining a peaceful protest recently i was hit by a car and blessed to only come out with a bruise. but i did have this out of body experience where i felt and could envision myself in a place where i hadn't been as lucky. it reminded me how quickly it can all be taken away, and how i will only be in my own body so i might as well learn to embrace it. 

so maybe i'll only write this once, maybe i'll write more or somewhere else. but if i'm remembering that i want to honor my own emotions i need to also honor how i always feel more at peace once i'm able to write it all out.

 guess i should clean a bit now, since i'm actually having folks over now. pizza and crafts! little steps, but they're steps. and i'm okay with that.