It feels impossible to get out of my own head. It felt like my life was finally settled. I had a stable job, a degree, a marriage with all the beautiful things that come with it. I felt comfortable. I volunteered and I admired those that had the energy to do it all. I felt as though I was the creative force behind social projects, family events, and friendship circles. I grew up. I felt like finally I was adulting. What I had and lost was passion. Passion for life. It got eaten away by constant requests from those around me and sever bout of PTSD from work. I used to love being that person - the quiet force behind unglamourous but extremely important job. Then the chaos came in the form of people who lost all compassion for humanity. A whole bunch of them sprouted during the pandemic like bad mushrooms. Instead of a promised promotion I got niched into one of the most brain damaging jobs. Cool cool cool. I am not angry at all, can you tell?
No, the truth is I am angry that I lost the view of my passion. My dreams. My ideas. My opinions. My voice.
2023 is not going to be a year of lost voices, or passions. It will be a revival of my personality and final healing from the PTSD.
My words for 2023 are: Delightful Ambitions.
It's time to find joy in things that I have lost the joy in and start fresh.
Weaving curated moments of serendipity, healing, and creativity. Storyteller. Hard worker. Crafting a curated life, one thread at a time✨#curatedmenow
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