There is more than 2 years between these pictures. There is blood, sweat, and a whole lot of tears between these two girls. In the last two years I’ve given up, given away, and given back. I’ve made a home inside of myself rather than other people.
It started with my body—it feels like mine now.
It spread to my mind—my thoughts feel like progress rather than self-deprecation.
It seeped into my relationships—they’re deeper and more meaningful.
It overtook my ambition—no one could stop me from running, no, sprinting, after my dreams.
It removed the filter from my eyes—I know what is truly important now.
As I took each step into the life I only once dreamt of, I left things behind, I left people behind. I got rid of most of my possessions, which in the end, were really just totems of American Consumerism chaining me (and my wallet) to a life I no longer wanted. For five months I even gave up my home. Home was no longer an address. For once home felt like my body, my mind, and the humans I embraced with vulnerability and honesty. It became morning runs just for time to reflect. 3am artistic fits that ended with the phrase “I did a thing”. Over two years I reinvented my life.
Somewhere in between that girl and this one, I became whole. It didn’t happen all at once, and there were moments where I did fall apart. Change doesn’t happen without sacrifice, pain, or discomfort. But somehow in all my phases I was exactly who I needed me to be in order to get to the next level.
2 years is only a drop in the bucket of life. So if you start today, in two years you could be looking back wondering how you could have ever been that person on the left.
To the universe and back,