My writing has vanished and there’s an emptiness there in its place. My consistency has vanished and there are excuses of needing to be prepared to begin again. Where has my life been hiding? I remember the last time I felt like I accomplished something. The significance wasn’t great, to many, but I was proud of me…and I’ve been searching for that feeling for what feels like forever.

I sit in silence some days and wonder about if what I have tried to do matters and while I think it does, I’ve gone numb. While my reason is functional, it seems that my capacity to feel has been held captive by my desire for seeing significance in the mirror where my mistakes rival with my reality. I survived the making of my mistakes but I’ve been living in them, today. I acknowledge and own them. I may have even delayed my own departure from them but I’ve been parked long enough. I need to move. I need whatever is necessary to ignite transformation in me – through me – for me, to be better than I’ve been.

***This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge #WYAOApril***


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