Let’s talk about letting go. Let’s talk about my situation. Let’s talk about how we can apply this to your situation or any situation that needs to be relinquished.
I said I would take a break from my blog. I said this because this blog used to feel like such a treasure chest of diverse ideas and thoughts (my safe haven) and as of late, I was beginning to feel like a broken record. And kind of a fake. Not that I ever really formally categorized my blog under anything but ‘musings’, but it was starting to feel like a long-winded tragic relationship column with advice that I should have been taking myself, but wasn’t.
Don’t settle. Know what you deserve. Know your worth. Know what real love is.
I was writing these things, posting, dusting off my hands, shutting my laptop, and then instantly reverting to my toxic relationship because that’s what was comfortable for me. And because each time, I still had a glimmer of hope.
Working through some life stuff (as you do) so I’ve decided to take a little time off from blogging.
Don’t worry — not permanent!
See you all very soon with some great new entries + ideas.
We all know the drill, whether we abide by it or not.
If you love something, LET. IT. GO. Because you can’t control if you love something, that’s just how the heart works. But sometimes the heart loves toxic things. Why? I don’t have the answer to that abnormality. All I know is – if you love something, LET IT GO.
It’s March, readers! Do you know what this means? The celebrated groundhog has predicted us an early spring, the end of the winter season is approaching (at least here in Toronto) and there is MORE sunshine!
… Although that’s not really what the beginning of March typically embodies for me.
March means music festival line-up announcements are being pummelled at us via social media – left, right and center – to help us all map out our summers. I think I can safely say that I’m a self-declared music (festival) enthusiast. And even though I may have moths escaping from my wallet, I will forever have butterflies fluttering around my stomach during line-up announcement season.
I’ve written entries before puttering in the realm of feeling low, picking yourself up, practicing self-care, staying strong, etc., but I don’t know if I’ve ever addressed this issue head on. Because it’s hard. Like really damn hard.
‘… And there will undoubtedly be more fascinating times to come’ – I guess I thought, as I flung myself into my gigantic dream of moving to Toronto last year. And I was right, obviously – and it’s ongoing. Many new tastes and sights and sounds and customs to explore and devour on a daily basis.
I also believed this would all prove to be a distraction from my crippling self-doubt and distorted self-image. Noooope.
So I guess I’d say I’m pretty big into dates / anniversaries / milestones. It’s an obvious way to identify progress and improvement (or sometimes even the opposite) between two dates in your life. If you’ve read my blog before, perhaps you’ve already noticed this as a characteristic of mine.
Guys, today is a big one for me.
Today marks the one-year anniversary of the follow through of the biggest decision and most drastic change I’ve made in my life. Today marks one year since I moved away from my friends and family … to the biggest city in Canada .. alone.
January 10th has definitely gotten easier over the past sixteen years, but it hasn’t gotten much easier. Every year I see the date on the calendar approaching, I get the same lump in my throat, the same heaviness in my heart. This year feels a little different – we’re past the fifteen year mark and headed for twenty. Sixteen years ago today, my Baba passed away.
This year, my post comes a few days after the beginning of the New Year. It comes to you with a great amount of thought and careful consideration on how to approach such a clichéd topic – rebirth, renewal, resolution.
I turned 27 today. I found my first two gray hairs this year and I honestly don’t know if they are from growing older or from stress but either way, it’s a daunting thought that ten years ago I was seventeen. I was seventeen when I graduated from high school. When I was seventeen, I had a head chock full of limitless ambition, a wallet (half) full of disposable income and a heart full of naivety.
I remember I used to have a mixed CD with Janis Ian’s At Seventeen on it. Unashamedly, I played it on repeat (ask my Dad) but I have to say, I didn’t learn the truth at 17, Janis. Not even close.
Over a month ago now (maybe two), I met with a dear friend for brunch. It was a rescue brunch of sorts – I was suffering. I was questioning the relationship I was in, the fairness of it, the undercurrents and the mixed messages. I vented. It felt good to vent and I felt more at peace until we left the restaurant and the awful feelings washed over me again.
We walked into a nearby Dollarama. I felt nauseous and hot and like I couldn’t ground myself – like the ground beneath me had transformed into sinking sand. The items in the store were swirling around me and my vision blurred. I was having a full-fledged panic attack. (Dear Lord it had been years since I’d had one – and if you’ve never had one, I would never wish this upon you) I texted my therapist in the most desperate way, ‘I’m having a panic attack. I don’t know what to do.’