introduction

8 years ago today, I moved from New York to California.

At the time, I was sharing my life pretty publicly through a series of essays published across multiple websites. I considered myself a writer.

As the years went by, I shifted to a more private role in marketing, helping small brands tell their stories. That’s what I still do today (for money).

If I’ve talked with you about this shift in my life, I’m sure I said a few things: I needed to make more money. I wanted more privacy. I stopped agreeing with how the titles I contributed to were operating. I lost my passion for writing.

But there was something else I decided, very consciously, at the time: if you read my old work, you know I wrote a lot about my struggles with substance abuse and mental illness. And around 28, I had this one very clear thought: maybe if I stopped writing about it, it would go away.

Starve the beast, in a sense.

Now, as I post this, a few weeks out from turning 33, I can tell you so much has changed: I’ve made friends, and I’ve lost them. I’ve been in love, and I’ve had my heart broken. I’ve worked really hard — and sometimes I really, really didn’t.

I learned the importance of taking care of my (one and only) body. I met my animal soulmate (the one and only Lux Interior).

My struggles with substance abuse and mental illness have not gone away.

I feel like a completely different person than the one who moved here 8 years ago. I’m stronger. I’m more stable. I’m in the healthiest romantic relationship I’ve ever been in (even though he’s a musician 🙄).

I do think distancing myself from the tell-all allowed me to sever my identity from the illness. I know now that my illness is not who I am. It’s an imbalance that’s happening in my body — whether by external circumstances, the cards I was dealt at birth, or some fun, funky combination of the two — and it’s something I’ve learned to manage. This applies to most people who have been diagnosed with any sort of illness, I think.

So why post this now, after spending years attempting to bury my past? Recently, things have been great. My bank accounts are relatively padded. My friendships are thriving. I recognize how lucky and privileged I am constantly.

(Just this year, I’ve realized that if I were another gender or race, I would 100% have been arrested or dead by now.)

I am doing OK, yes. But I am not fully happy.

I think, especially this past year, it was important for me to be quiet and listen. I don’t regret stepping back from “putting myself out there,” and taking the time to attune to others’ plights, as I’ve been so focused on my own.

But now, after a lot of self-reflection and a gentle nudge from a few people in my life who’ve been so courageously expressing their authentic selves (some for the first time!), I’m ready to talk about the ugly things I once wanted so badly to not exist again. I’m ready to put my work out there for other people to see; because it’s something I need to do to feel connected to the world — to truly feel alive.

I am finally fucking ready to write again.