The end of vocal rest.

My goal for this year was to write more. In the past, I found it extremely cathartic and therapeutic. Talking to you, to the void, to no one, to myself, always helped me get my truth out. Instead of repeating the same story over and over again, I put it all in one place and let whoever wanted to read it. For the last two years, I found I couldn’t write. I felt that my stories and my feelings were blocked up, as if every time I tried to get them out the lump in my throat would grow to the size that choked me. With every word I typed a new doubt popped into my mind. I called myself a child, an idiot, a fraud. I told myself that my feelings don’t matter. I told myself that I don’t matter. I went through my day, breathing and telling myself that as long as I stayed quiet, I would be ok. I didn’t have to say anything and I wouldn’t be heard. I could yell about dogs and sparkly dresses. I could go to work, come home, snuggle with my dog and repeat this motion until I died eventually. 

I bullied myself into losing my voice and couldn’t figure out why I had done it. My mother first noted that I had lost my voice in the aftermath of a relationship that ended in physical abuse. “You lost your voice when you were with him” she noted “and you should never let anyone dull your shine ever again.” I promised her I wouldn’t, and I never let another man dull my shine after that. If the person who I was dating didn’t like that I put myself out there, I would leave them in the dust. I was proud of that fact. It made me feel like my biggest cheerleader. When I met Jonathan, not only did he like that I put myself out there, he actively encouraged it. Even as my own thoughts turned on me, he bought me a journal from Italy and would tell me to let it all out. It’s easy to cut out a person who is putting you down and dulling your shine, but what do you do when your own worst enemy turns out to be yourself? 

2018 left me feeling like a dry husk of myself. While it was an exciting year filled probably the most adventure I’ve ever had in my lifetime, I had to sit myself down over a cup of tea and ask who I wanted to be in this world. I lost 2 family members who I loved dearly, I was watching my abuela lose the piece of herself I loved the most due to dementia and all the while, I was stuck in a rut of work, seeing the same friends on weekends, getting too drunk, and sleeping. I didn’t have anything that fulfilled me, personally. What were my passions? What did I like to do that wasn’t unrealistic for myself like traveling all of the time? If you asked me to describe myself I would tell you how much I loved being a wife to my best friend, how much I enjoyed the work I did or how much I loved my friends but I never could tell you about myself further than that. 

As a result, I decided to commit myself to writing more this year. Not to put myself down and to find my voice again. I’ve also decided to dip my toes into photography a bit again. Not doing fashion, but just shooting things in my life again. Nothing off the table, more vulnerability, more accountability, and just allowing myself to speak again, and speak clearly. I have my January post ready to go for later this week and I’m ready to work. 

Love you, I really mean it. 

Emma