I always cringe when writing a blog's first post (and with my spontaneous ideas but sporadic commitment, I've penned several). It's that same feeling you get writing a cover letter; I know this is supposed to be about me... But what can I put that won't make me look like a damn fool?
But anyways, fool or no, here I am. Here is where we start.
Here is where I start rebuilding.
Long story short (is there ever such a thing?), I grew up in a household of domestic violence. Not the intermittent kind. The dragged out, broken glass, muffle the shouts by covering your head with the pillow every night kind. This lasted for over 20 years.
During those first 20 years, I made it my life goal to be perfect. Unsurprisingly, this led to very great societal results (straight A's! happy cheerleader! super skinny! prestigious university!) and very poor mental ones. But I kept on. I escaped the house. I thought I escaped that life.
I tried to build one of my own.
After undergrad came grad school came a "career." A career that isn't exactly esteemed in America, but I'd landed in prestigious enough a spot to deem it worthy of fitting into my storyline. (Because that's all these are, yes? Stories we tell ourselves).
Then slam-bam-crash. My father died unexpectedly. The nightmare was supposed to be over.
I wasn't prepared for the fact that this sudden event would dredge up all kinds of emotion. So I pushed it down somewhere I wouldn't have to look at it in the name of being the best ever! at my job.
Until I realized I couldn't anymore. So three years later, and I am here. Taking time off, trying to figure out my life. Rebuilding what has fallen down around me. Let's go.
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