Since puberty, I’ve been diligently scrutinizing myself for all my wrongs (real or perceived otherwise). My main method of torture was journaling, where I took great lengths in highlighting each mistake until I remember it all. While my short-term memory is bullshit, the long-term impact is … definitely there.
Those past years almost felt like a blur. Turns out I was just repressing myself!
I started reading The Artist Way this year, and it felt like I was facing the rubble that covered the surface of my repressed memories. A part of me felt like … maybe I can explore it this time? Then the opportunity presented itself.