An act of self trust

Is pressing send.

Despite feeling like there’s nothing of value to say.

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Every day I wake up, I promise myself I will devote myself to writing. To creating. To sharing something of value— anything — with you. To getting swept up in the concentrated flow of stringing words together letter by letter, intricately letting a story unravel and take its own unique shape. To feel connected to the pulsating creative nature that wants to unfurl in and out of me. To feel connected to my dreams, which feel as far away as the life I had begun building in Europe. To feel connected to you, the readers who are moved by what moves me. At the very least, to feel connected to feeling moved again. To feel…anything besides the emptiness that fills my once overflowing spirit.

To feel.

To pressing send.

Like clockwork, my inner knowing begs me in the morning to devote time to writing and creating. And like clockwork, I ignore my inner knowing. As the sky turns from clear blue with possibility to dusk and darkness, I am left with nothing but empty pages and empty promises. As my head hits the pillow, the cursor to my Notion doc is blinking on the same empty page as the day before, my attention is kept by constant scrolling, and I have not kept my word.

This has happened every. single. day. this year.

It’s been nearly 7 months since I’ve publicly pressed send on a newsletter, Substack post, or measly Instagram caption. I recorded one podcast, perhaps a month ago… which felt like a giant feat. A celebratory W amongst days and days of L’s. My days flitter on right before my eyes. Creative ideas will run through me, and I’ll do my best to catch them, only to realize I’m out of shape, out of practice, and full of excuses.

Creativity outruns me so often, and yet, excuses seem to catch me just fine.

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It’s going on 9pm, and after a whole day of overhauling every single reason why I should not sit down, write something (about nothing with no real value to you, dear reader), and press send, I am devoted to overhauling the excuses that keep me bound from connecting to myself, my expression, and my true creative nature.

This is not a post of prolific wisdom, substantive storytelling, or intentionally curated content paired with visual musings (the kind you may expect of me). This is not a post connected to my work — sharing what I’m up to and what I’m working on. Truthfully, this is not a post for you at all, even though you are the recipient.

This post is of no importance to you, dear reader. A drop in the bucket of overflowing content that you receive in your precious inboxes, daily. I will not be offended if you delete it right away. I won’t even be offended if you come finish this piece of writing (bless you, if you do) and feel like I wasted your time.

I may have wasted your time (apologies if I did…given time is the most precious commodity we have on this planet), but I certainly did not waste mine. Mission accomplished for me.

This is a post to demonstrate to myself — for myself — that I can keep my word. It seems like all year I’ve been floating in the abyss, somewhere far away from myself and the assurance I once knew so intimately. As if I have become separate. Unwhole. Backwards and regressed. My self-trust (and all that follows…commitment, action, and integrity) has become eroded, mostly to myself. That’s the most painful type of erosion — internal erosion. What erodes can be brought back to life. What is lost can be found. What is weak can be strengthened.

One small act at a time.

One word at a time.

Pressing send, one piece at a time.

Today, pressing send on a nothing piece of writing is absolutely enough. A winning victory. A glimmer of redemption and a glimpse of personal reclamation. Nothing grandiose — just the glimmer of hope in my hand as I walk back home towards and for myself. I’m so curious how far that glimmer can carry me and how much brighter it will become along the way. So, so curious. So willing to find out.

After months of being at war with myself, I can finally rest my head on the pillow with an internal peace I have been begging to feel since January. When the sun rises tomorrow, I am ready to lace up again, catching what is running through and out of me and looking up at blue skies of possibilities.

Ciao for now,
M