Anxiety and depression are thieves. They steal my confidence, my will to keep going. They tell me that no one cares what I have to say, that I’m not enough, that I’m stupid. They tell me my ambitions and goals are unreachable, that I should just stop trying.
I thought I was going to ace this whole delivery and postpartum thing. Then just about everything fell apart.
I've decided to start this blog back up because I need more in my life. I always have. This is my creative outlet. And now, more than ever, I have stories to tell. They've been burning up inside me for well over a year, and I'm ready to share.
Last night, my husband and I were discussing our future. (Casual, I know.) He suggested we each make lists of goals we want to accomplish within the next ten years. Not going to lie, the idea of that freaks me out. Ten years is such an intimidatingly long time. And the idea of writing down things like, "buy a house" or "have babies" gives me much more anxiety the older I get. But since my birthday is a little less than two weeks away, I figured setting mini goals for my 25th year of life wouldn't be the worst idea. I started my quarter-life crisis at 24 so I'm hoping turning 25 will be slightly more graceful.
Let me say right off the bat that I can only speak about my own experiences. I'm not a fan of articles with lists that tell people how to BE happy, as if there were some magical formula for happiness. I'm not here to preach religion or exercise or some new age book that you [...]