Between the pandemic and my own anxiety, I’ve been in my feelings. Even though I’m already a hermit, I feel more alone now than ever before. It has forced me to think about my life and who I’ve become. About 3 years ago, I realized that the gratification I felt after working hard on things like projects and assignments was the feeling I was missing in my personal relationships with people. It’s likely that I was expecting constant gratification from others in my life because I never felt like I could get it from my mom. The feeling I’d have after busting my chops on a project, seeing my work, and even having my work recognized by others- it made me feel whole. So that what I focused all of my energy on.
As time went on, relationships with people were placed on the back-burner. People disappointed me. They could never be exactly who I (felt I) needed, when I needed them to be. I could never be who they needed me to be. I couldn’t trust Continue reading “Confessions of A Workaholic”
There are people who read my blog and that’s something that I can hardly fathom. Between a lack of confidence and a serious case of impostor syndrome, I never felt that I could create anything that would be of value to anyone else. Despite having so many reasons to believe otherwise, I still struggle to wrap my mind around someone thinking a creation of mine is worth their time.
But this is not a post about my struggles with anxiety and identity. This is simply a post to say thank you. Thank you to everyone who has read even one of my posts. Thank you to those who’ve subscribed to my blog. Thank you to each and every commentor. Thank you to everyone who’s written to me to personally let me know that they enjoy my content. I’ve contemplated giving up this blog so many times and I’m glad I’ve decided to stick around. I look forward to continuing to write and share my little 2 cents on life.
For the majority of my time spent in grade school, I was teased mercilessly by my peers and called ugly. If it wasn’t for my superior academic performance, my dark brown complexion, or the fact that I, a black child, spoke an East Asian language, it was for just plain old “not being pretty”. My strong, African features that my ancestors blessed me with have always been prime targets for my antagonists. Over time, I started to see their point about everything but my complexion. (For some reason, the black comments just never got under my skin and I always enjoyed my dark color.) Perhaps I should have a slimmer nose, Brazilian wavy curls, and huge breasts. Not to mention, I was obsessed with my weight and I never saw myself as slim enough or capable of losing weight by any means other than starvation. Continue reading “Do You Actually Embrace Your Flaws?”