This is how it feels like every time I start on a new piece. The pages are blank and pristine – a clean slate. But as letters start filling up the spaces, my thoughts begin to wander and the inspiration starts to sink. Deep. The desire to continue abruptly disappears. All that’s left are half-written somethings perceived as nothings. Just empty words and a broken spirit of someone who once wanted to tell stories of the world.
It’s hard to be like this – tired, uninspired, empty.
Some call it “burnout”. I call it wasted potential, which in a toxic cycle, makes things worse.
It’s so easy to get here. To wallow in self-pity and to constantly have a looming sense of despair. Believe me, I somehow found myself in this place fighting denial. And it’s a fight to get out.
This is how it feels like every time I start on a new piece. The pages are blank and pristine – a clean slate. But this time, I will write the truth of my reality no matter how difficult it is because the human spirit is stronger than this. And because I am reminded that life is not all Instagram-worthy images of quintessential cafe breakfasts or expensive holidays. Life is about the rise and falls, the wins and the struggles, the mountain-top moments and the wrestling in the valley. I write because I want people to remember that they’re not alone. Yet, on the can’t get out of bed days, I feel like I’m on a journey by myself on a road that leads to no-man’s land.
But there is no solidarity in life. As lonely as things may seem, I have to remind myself that I am not alone. And that it’s okay to be vulnerable and to share my deepest struggles. It’s okay to just live and to just be authentically me.
I’m usually the bubbly and quirky me but even on the hard days, the sit in the corner and cry days, the don’t want to do anything human days, the can’t believe how bad things are days, I have to remind myself that those are parts that are wholly me too.
And that’s okay.
Self-love. Self-acceptance. Self-worth.
Rise above the waves.