A strong aversion to rejection is what drove me to write; a snarky comment or a sharp criticism was all it took to make me crumble, completely and utterly. It's exhausting, carrying and collecting slights as if it were some competition so at the height of the pandemic I decided to write to develop a thick enough skin to survive.
Writing started off as a survival mechanism, but it soon metamorphized into something life giving, a salve for a weary heart. It illuminated the broken and abandoned ruins inside of myself and gave a voice to the little girl who was always too afraid to speak up; to the heartbreak and the grief and the anger and the resentment and the hope and the idealism inside of me, it breathed life into all the aspects of myself I had neglected for so long. Writing has become a sort of pilgrimage, a holy ritual that heals and gives meaning; I hope to continue in this endeavor to discover and to heal and to grow and ultimately become a more resilient, happier, and loving person to myself and to others.