I know, I know. Been a while since my last post. Oops. Life got in the way for a minute there. I’m still here, though! Promise. I just got word that I surpassed one hundred followers on this blog! Wow, everyone. Thank you so much! Thought I’d write a little something to express my gratitude. Perhaps reflect on where I am now and how I got here.
I started this blog in earnest two years ago, but actually its origins stretch back further than that. The idea came to me when I was still in high school, but never took off. There are reasons for that, which I won’t bore you with. I will say that I mostly let fear hold me back. Fear of how I’d be received. Fear that my story wasn’t important enough. Fear that I’d have nothing to say. Back then, I didn’t share my writing with more than one soul at a time as it was too sacred to share with too many people. I held my writing very close to my chest. That’s the honest truth.
So, as you might imagine, writing this blog in earnest on a public platform was pretty scary at first. Fast forward to now, it’s an immensely rewarding experience. I hope you feel how genuine I am in thanking all of you for reading my posts, commenting, and supporting me in your own ways. Appreciate you all so very much.
Everyday, I’m reminded how writing has been cathartic for me. A force to be reckoned with. A “good power” to have. It’s saved me in more ways than one. It’s let me share things I wouldn’t out loud. Here’s an example. Last night, I was frustrated about a lot of different things. While scrolling through Instagram, I came across this beautiful poem by Rupi Kaur––head over to my public Instagram page to check it out! I interpreted the poem to be about the journey of progress, the beauty of progress and the value within it. Got me thinking about my own journey living with CP. Walking with a cane outdoors after SDR didn’t really pan out. That’s ok. I’m still making progress rebuilding my body by exercising and going to the gym to work with my personal trainer. There’s value in that. The poem even got me thinking about a past journey of wanting to become a physician. Thought I wanted to be a doctor for a long time. For a while, I was determined to be a writer who practiced medicine.
I haven’t talked about that much on here. Getting my MD didn’t work out. Not because I “couldn’t do it.” Not just because of a series of bad decisions during the process. Truth is, I was overwhelmingly unhappy. Partly because I was trying to be a version of myself everyone else wanted me to be. I’d managed to convince myself that being a doctor was what I wanted, that my reasons for wanting to pursue a career in medicine were enough. Well, they weren’t. Leaving that dream behind to start all over again was one of the toughest and frightening things I’ve ever done. Didn’t want to admit failure in some way because I stepped back. I was embarrassed. Tried to fight it. My efforts were futile. After quietly coming to the realization that I needed to just stop while walking down the sidewalk one afternoon, I thought what’s gonna become of me? I wanted to be a doctor for so long that it was scary to imagine doing something else with my life. I worried about permanently disappointing those who supported and believed in me, especially my mom. But I also knew that nothing and no one was worth compromising my mental health and happiness. Not even my parents. Sometimes things just don’t work out. That’s ok. Sometimes you have to adjust. Adjust your goals, ambitions, especially if past ones weren’t the right fit and made you depressed. My point is, even if getting my MD didn’t work out, there’s value in the experience. I learned a lot about myself, what makes me happy and what I want out of life. And, you know what they say. When one door closes….