2.6.25 // I'm 34, and I'm not ashamed to admit...

1. I still don’t know who I am. Maybe I never will. But one thing I do know for sure: my identity isn’t defined by the opinions, expectations, or judgments of others.

2. I’m not sure if I’ll ever live the “traditional” life I imagined at 18, 22, or 25... marriage, kids, a linear career. Right now, none of that feels like me. But maybe one day it will, and honestly, I think whatever happens in my life will surprise me in the best way. Life has a funny way of unfolding exactly as I need, not necessarily as I plan.

3. My creativity ebbs and flows. Hard. My writing has changed as I have. Some days, I grieve the past versions of myself—the hopeless romantic who wrote through beautiful emotions instead of the heavy-laden writer I sometimes feel like now.

4. I consistently underestimate the power of choice. Not in the big ways, but in the small, everyday ways—to choose myself, to choose gratitude, to choose contentment, to choose to let go of small frustrations instead of carrying them.

5. I’m still learning to let go of how others perceive me. There are times when my mind gets caught up in overthinking that—wondering if my kindness seems fake, if my vulnerability feels performative, or if I’m unintentionally letting someone down just by being myself.

6. My eating disorder still lurks. It’s been over a decade since I started tracking calories, teetering on the line between restriction and a distorted view of my body. But body dysmorphia and orthorexia don’t just disappear—they still pop up, even now.

7. Even though I don’t fully know who I am (see point 1), I like who I am. At my core, I’m loving, curious, enthusiastic, a hopeless romantic, even after everything. Through all the trials, tribulations, and traumas, that inner truth, that little girl inside me, is something I deeply love.