Reclaiming The Millions of Words I’ve Lost To Fear



you were a writer
you ever
pen to paper.
just because you were not writing
does not mean you were not writing
― Nayyirah Waheed.

It’s been about four years since I’ve dedicated time to writing for my own consumption and peace of mind. Tumblr went to shit after Yahoo bought it, and it morphed from being an incognito blogging site to a Gen-Z Pornhub. I haven’t found another (anti)social media platform to replace it, so, after moving 3,000 miles away from everyone whose opinions I was enslaved to – I’ve decided to revisit writing and create my own blog. I’m excited to share my unfiltered thoughts without having the pressures of knowing if anyone, and who, is reading my work.

I have social anxiety and have never been great at communicating verbally. I tend to teeter between being too vocal and acting in a manner where being kind and honest are mutually exclusive, to imploding and isolating myself from others. Writing was my sweet spot between the two – it was my go-to to say what needn’t be said and a place where I could savor the good memories, and heal from the bad.

In all honesty, these past few years I just wasn’t in a good place mentally, emotionally, or even financially to write. Writing, I’d argue, is one of the most painful things an individual can do. It requires intense self-reflection and time – it’s equivalent to picking at a wound that’s just beginning to heal over and over. Writing makes things real and makes your vulnerabilities accessible, to you, and to others. I wasn’t ready to have a sit-down with myself, and was content with living my unfulfilling life in autopilot hoping that, somehow, I’d unintentionally end up at the right destination.

I don’t know where the line is drawn between being a master of your own destiny, and fate. I also don’t know when being an awkward black girl became cool (shout-out to Issa). Nonetheless, I’m happy to share my quarter-life crisis awakening and the journey of reclaiming my skin, while shedding that of others.

In the words of my favorite poet, Nayyirah Waheed, “I’m a brutally soft woman”.

Fear me.

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