A Change of Pace

Hi all!

As we rapidly approach the beginning of another work/school week, I find myself at a precipice myself. I’ve shared with so many people my love of stories, my deep desire to see women live in a world of gender equality and safety. I have blogged almost exclusively these past few months for women’s rights and issues, made a YouTube video, I even decided that this is what I want to spend the rest of my life doing.

And yet, it hadn’t occurred to me in the beginning that I could do all of that now. I mean, yes, the blogging and the stories and the equality are things I strive for every day, but the thing is, it’s something I assumed that I would need multiple degrees and things to do. Turns out, I was just holding myself back.

I woke up today wondering how I might spend my Sunday. I’ve had a growing hankering to create. Something, anything. I just wanted to really connect with my artistic side, live the changes that I wanted to see, you know? But I couldn’t narrow it down. I spent all day Saturday doing homework and more homework sounded appalling. Did I want to write? Eh. Did I want to sculpt? Eh. Draw? Maybe. And that’s when I laughed. It’s been staring me in the face for ages.

And so, this morning, I Love Me was born. I’ve gotten some wonderful feedback, some really positive and reaffirming stuff, as well as constructive criticisms. And through the fire, we manage to find ourselves looking at a great idea in the making.

I Love Me is a children’s picture book designed to teach body positivity and safety to girls ages 7-12. In this book, there are mentions of loving yourself, how to determine if something is appropriate, and what to do if something does happen that’s inappropriate, as well as being in charge of your own body.

So I knew I started this yesterday, and as you can see I didn’t quite finish it. I was busy reworking the actual “story” part of this project. It now includes a little more and I changed some things around. I absolutely love it more. You see, I’ve talked to mothers and professors and psychology degrees and social workers and we all seem to have reached the same consensus: children need to know more about how to protect themselves from dangerous situations, but also how to love themselves. It’s going to take a while for the illustrations, but I cannot wait to share this journey with you all! 

                                                                                
 

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I Just Can’t Even

The thing about life is that it throws you curve balls and you think you have a handle on everything and then there’s another curve in the road and your car topples over, down a cliff and you think “Oh crap! This is it!” And then you wake up and realize it’s not it and you have to keep living each day, even if it’s hard, because you’re still alive and that’s all there is.

I have always been honest about the fact that I am opinionated. But what happens to opinionated people is that they take a stand, and occasionally because of that, they take a fall. I live in the state of Ohio, as I have all my life. And it’s like living in the middle of a political hungry, hungry hippo game, and the people are the balls. Seriously, if there isn’t one thing in the news, it’s another. For example, I go to The Ohio State University (yes, the “The” is capitalized). In this semester alone, we’ve had a bomb threat, a suicide and an accidental death, which resulted in the end of a tradition. Now, that isn’t to say that I do not feel safe, because I went to classes on the day of the bomb threat and came out just fine. However, it seriously has been the worst semester as far as bizarrely awful things. And I mean, with this being a hot spot for political rallies, our campus has been a zoo on the worst days, and little better on the best days. We’re a bunch of kids and early adults, and as developmentally immature future generations, I would like to speak up and say “What the hell?!”

I didn’t come here to complain. In fact, I’ve stayed away from my blog for the past couple days because I just wanted to be alone. I’ve been mad, sad, grumpy, selfish, whiny and a whole host of other not-so-graceful things. But when I started this blog, I said it was my outlet and while I GREATLY appreciate each of you who have followed me, I am not writing for you but rather, for me.

So here’s why I’ve been so angsty. I was writing my book for NaNoWriMo and reached 50k words (yay!). But as December 1 rolled around, I found myself unable to continue. I hadn’t hit a creative block, because I know where my story is going,but I hit a different kind of pause, one where I actually kind of hate my book. I can’t even look at it. So I thought “Hey! I’ll just start a new one!” And when I got to work, I was trying to figure out a working title so I googled my ideas and lo and behold, someone already wrote the damn thing! I was so happy to have come up with a new idea and then so furious that someone beat me to it without my knowledge. So I stopped writing, which led me to not blogging. And now I have returned, idea-less and a little wispy.

I don;t know what to do. Writing has always been “my thing”. I turned to it when I was blue, when I was happy. Words have been my walls, the things which keep me in and others out. I sound so much more elegant when I write than I do in person. And to have no motivation to even catch a line of poetry has been a new experience for me.

It’s like having an itch on your back at that spot where you physically cannot reach so you scratch around it, and it subsides, but you can still feel it. It’s like finally deciding what you want to eat, being able to taste it in your mouth but knowing you don’t have any of it. It’s like waking up mid-dream and vaguely remembering this great idea, but you’re forgetting a really important part. It’s like going into a room and forgetting why, then leaving without remembering it at all. That’s what this feeling is. And it’s so ungodly frustrating. Writing has been my sole way to escape, to create and process. I never thought I was decent at visual art, music is far too personal to be anything less than a blissful experience. Writing was the way I broke through to the inner me and expressed all the things I didn’t want others to see for the exact purpose of letting them see.

So I’ve been on a break from myself. And I want to reconnect, but maybe I just need to let go first.