Moments of Clarity (and a Drawer Full of Notebooks)

The last few days have been full of self-reflection—those quiet moments where life holds up a mirror and you can’t quite look away.

A lot of it’s been about how I’ve treated some people when I felt they wronged me. Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that my reactions were justified, but looking back, I can see how often I let my own toxic perceptions take the wheel. I made mountains out of ant hills. On some level, I knew I was being unfair, but I didn’t fully acknowledge or understand why I was doing it.

Now I do—and it’s a hard truth to face. In those moments, I wasn’t exactly the best version of myself, old toxic patterns and behaviors where reemerging, I know longer liked what I was seeing in the mirror.

Then, while cleaning and organizing my office drawers, I stumbled across about eight brand-new notebooks. Not a single word written in any of them. We won’t even talk about how many pens I purchased right along with them. But it hit me—those empty pages were a reflection of something deeper: all the words I’ve kept bottled up. Things I’ve wanted to write, say, and express, but didn’t out of fear or some form of self-doubt.

Not feeling smart enough.
Not good enough.
Not worthy enough.

But lately, I’ve noticed something shifting. I’ve been putting myself out there in ways I never used to. Honestly, it feels like someone else is driving half the time—like a part of me finally decided it’s time to show up. There’s been a lot of clarity, some of it beautiful, some of it uncomfortable, but all of it necessary.

I’ve also had to admit that I’m still struggling with depression on some level. It’s not as heavy as it once was, but it’s still there, quietly influencing how I see myself and my progress.

And yes, I’ve realized I’m not as far along with Golden Petal as I thought I’d be by now. With all the changes in direction—and that recent hard left turn—it’s easy to feel like I should have “more to show.” But I’ve come to understand that letting go of certain paths doesn’t mean failure. It means I’m allowing space for what actually fits.

So instead of beating myself up, I’ve been trying to just let things be. If something needs to drop off my plate, it’s okay. I’m still moving forward, even if it’s slower, even if it’s messy.

And honestly? It’s all been weird and extremely freeing in some ways.
Weird, hard to look at, but real.
And maybe that’s exactly where the healing happens.