Posts tagged Self Discovery
Valentine's Day Thoughts
Valentine's Day Thoughts

Sometimes I wonder why lovers hold hands when they walk around. I wonder how long they have been dating. Are they in that new stage, where it feels like they have to hold on tight, constantly let the other person know that they are there, that they aren’t going anywhere, that they want to touch them, that they want to be touched. Or is it the older couples, the ones who have been together for longer that hold hands. A gesture they don’t even realize they’re doing, their fingers just mindlessly reaching for each other, keeping their connection as they pace around the city.

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True StoriesDiya Mehtalove, self love, Self Discovery, heartbreak, valentineComment
Hugs to Headlocks and Green Algae Guts
Hugs to Headlocks and Green Algae Guts

Despite my vigorous scrubbing, the damn sixty-four ounce, “self-detect container” (manufacturer jargon) looks like it has a thin coat of pond scum coating the clear pitcher. How are pond scum and spirulina different? I wonder. Each time I enter the kitchen, I’m blind to the clean counters and floors. All I can concentrate on is this disgusting Vitamix.

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True StoriesGuest Useraddiction, self care, Self Discovery, mental healthComment
Call Me a Writer
Call Me a Writer

I’ve done a lot of writerly things for money: reporting, editing, and teaching. I managed to write and teach until I had kids, but parenting was the kiss of doom for balance in my life. Something had to go, and since my spouse was on board, I quit teaching. What little extra time I had, I spent writing. It didn’t pay, but it satisfied a creative need, and it didn’t require a wardrobe. Or parking.

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True StoriesGuest UserSelf Discovery, Writing, writer, mother Comments
Though I Have Seen My Head (Grown Slightly Bald)
Though I Have Seen My Head (Grown Slightly Bald)

I sat in Taylor’s chair in the high-ceilinged hair salon on Madison Avenue, watching all the wealthy Upper East Siders, as they rested their five-figure handbags on velvet stools like beloved pets. My newfound sense of mortality had no place in this land of excess. This was the room T.S. Eliot must have been referring to when he spoke about the “women [who] come and go/ Talking of Michelangelo.”

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True StoriesGuest Usercancer, self love, friendship, acceptance, Self Discovery Comment
"You Acted Like You Were Sober"
"You Acted Like You Were Sober"

Jake offers me a beer before challenging, “Think you can keep up?”

“I can drink you under the table,” I answer.

“Drink for drink then.”

We click our bottles and the game begins. I know I will lose. He’s six feet tall, lean and muscular, while I’m closer to five foot two. He easily weighs two hundred pounds which compliments his height and athletic build. My body is somewhere in the one hundred and ten mark. There is no way I’ll win. But that isn’t the point, is it?

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True StoriesGuest Userrape, addiction, Self Discovery Comments
Why Don’t You Repeat What I Just Said?
Why Don’t You Repeat What I Just Said?

“Can you please repeat what I just said?” Debbie asked. Her usual, wry smile I recognized so well said, “Why do you even try to fool me? I know you so well.”

“Oh…what…No, I am okay, I got you. I actually heard you,” I replied.

“No, you didn’t, and I know it. I absolutely do not mind repeating myself for the fourth time, Abha. And, if you really got me, why don’t you repeat what I just said? Repeat it,” Debbie said.

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True StoriesGuest Usergrief, disability, friendship, Self Discovery Comment
Breaking Up With My Breasts
Breaking Up With My Breasts

Dear Breasts,

It’s been almost two years since I saw you. My last memory of us is you hidden underneath a checkered teal hospital gown that flapped against my naked bottom. I couldn’t look at you. I pictured the doctors cutting you off and resting you on a silver platter next to the operating table. Two jello molds, each with a cherry on the top. The whole thing felt surreal.

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True StoriesJulia Nusbaumdisability, cancer, Motherhood, Self Discovery Comment
Pressure-Cooker Children
Pressure-Cooker Children

By my eighteenth birthday, I was convinced my entire personality was a mistake. My hobbies were hipster and obnoxious, tied to the fine arts and human culture. My goals were lofty and idealistic, invoking a life of novelty and meaning. I hated that I cared for these things despite their presumed futility in our modern (read: capitalist) world. The trendy albeit psychologically debunked Myers-Briggs Type Indicator had assigned me a personality with one of the lowest average incomes, followed by fun phrases like “most likely to have trouble in school,” and to me, this was the surest confirmation of my worthlessness.

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True StoriesGuest UserSelf Discovery, self love, immigrationComment
My Skeleton’s Closet
My Skeleton’s Closet

Weak Point

“Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re worried about?”

Secrets are like poison. Until you tell someone, they will kill you from the inside out. The worst secrets are the kind you keep from yourself—held at bay for so long until the dam finally breaks. For a week, I tell my mom that I’m having stomach problems, and it isn’t entirely a lie.

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True StoriesGuest UserLGBTQIA, Self Discovery, self love Comments