Here I am. Not anywhere near where I thought I’d be. This blog is erupting from a quarter-life crisis and the most painful event of my life thus far. I ask myself lately, “Did this have to happen?” More and more I’m realizing in order for me to feel the necessity to find myself, I had to become 100% utterly, purely, and fantastically broken.
It’s always a man isn’t it. Yup, how original. A stupid, arrogant, selfish man inspired this blog… you’re welcome. Ladies… why the hell do we lose ourselves in the identity of our partners? Why are our greatest goals to become wives and mothers? (Which I still desperately want). But hell, there’s more right? So why does it feel like I’ve been experiencing Dante’s Inferno in the depths of hell the last seven weeks.
Yup, seven weeks… it’s that fresh. More on that later….
This blog starts the first day of my refusing to text him. The first day I’m disciplined in following a dream I’ve had since I was twenty. (Bikini competition) This day brings so much hope but also fear. What if I don’t make it out here? On my own? Without the “man of my dreams”? Ughhhhh…. shut up heart…. cue brain….
Breaking up. We’ve all done it… mine just about shattered me. I made some horrible, dangerous, and reckless decisions since finding out about this infidelity. I’ve drank myself to tears, kissed the wrong boys, and sought worth everywhere and from anyone.
I am worthy of greatness. (Well this is my mantra). I’m not really believing it yet. Today is day one without alcohol, without a rebound, and without wallowing around saying, “No one will ever love me”.
If y’all, (yes y’all and I’m a Yankee) want to join me on finding myself, getting ripped, getting over Officer Douche, and receiving Grace from my Lord and Savior… come and walk with me for a while.