One year ago I posted this blog for the first time.
When the little “memory” notification popped up on my phone I started looking back on this whole experience.
I remember when the decision was made to actually follow through with this. It was my first night back in NY after over a month away. Will and Lauren had just dropped me off from Jeremy & Kelsey’s wedding. I was absolutely panicked inside. Laura and I were making stew and, as Laura calls it, a bodacious loaf of challah bread.
As we made the bread we talked about a blog that didn’t exist yet. We talked about what it might be like, what I would maybe post about, and how I didn’t really know why I wanted to start it but that I thought it would be a good idea. We talked a lot about it & then I got to work.
I made a crazy long list of all the things I wanted to do. And the original intention of this blog was to document all those things I was doing. Just a place to acknowledge how I was trying to “fucking step up my game” and “run myself in to the ground so I can sleep at night.”
If you’ve been following along, you’ve probably noticed that’s not really what this blog has been for the past year. But, for me, it’s been so much more.
This has been my outlet.
It’s been a place for me to word vomit and process all my feelings. It’s been a safe space for me to grieve privately and publically at the same time. It’s been a space for me to feel cared for by and connected to so many of you.
My therapist (and a collective “finally” is heard around the world) said something a few weeks ago that really resonated with me.
Which is good.
Because that’s her job.
She said,
It’s like you’ve taken an empty paint can and filled it with thousands of different paint colors. You’re trying to blend them together but it’s really really hard to stir. But, though it seems like it will never happen, slowly but surely everything will blend again. But you will have to be patient, take it slow, & be kind to yourself.”
So thank you, sweet humans. Thank you for helping to create and support my overflowing paint can. Thank you for loving and sending so much support my way. Thank you for your openness, kindness, and generosity of spirit. Thank you for never once making me feel ashamed or embarrassed, but rather making me feel brave and strong.
Thank you for listening to me stir my paint, one painfully slow circle at a time.
Love,
Jessie


