Let’s get right to it, I’m evolving from the idea that if you’re introverted, you’re somewhat less than. Less than what, I’m not quite sure. Maybe less valuable? Less intellectual? Less worthy? Less lovable. Thinking back to movies and stories I’ve seen — you know the ones — introverts are the wallflowers, the ones forgotten or ignored, and who never get to see their day in the spotlight because it wasn’t made for people like us. People — it feels mostly intentional— shame in

The costs of associating love with performance makes it transactional — I perform my best and cater to your needs, and you, the audience, applaud, throwing flowers in the air and shouting encore, with desires to have more and see more on the grand stage. The thought alone is tiring.

Looking back at the photos, I’m proud of my 20-year-old self for baking cookies and donuts, and  Whipping up soups, stews, and my favorite—chicken pot pie—was all new but certainly brought me joy.

Okay, so I’ll raise my hand and admit I’ve done therapy wanting to know why I think the way I do or do the things I do — beyond what my own understandings are or were. And honestly, no regrets. I hate the stigma around therapy and just the narrative that something must be— had to be — wrong with you to seek mental health help. Maybe there is, but isn’t there something wrong with all of us? Anyway, a pivotal moment or session, I should say, was...

Her childhood brush with the soft bristles laid overturned on the bathroom’s titled floor—coiled strands of oily black hair .

Behind the vertical bars, through the narrow gaps, I see a glimpse of who I could be — should be.  Eyes closed, the weight of my head res

Looking up now, I wondered what he saw that convinced him that way was the way — which cloud was responsible for leading him astray?