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  • Writer's pictureWhitney Bowen Abrams

I am Now.

I recently spent an afternoon deep diving into my archives, a series of journals I wrote in and kept over the years. I was searching for inspiration. But inspiration is not what I found. No.

Instead I found a deep and profound sadness. The pages were littered with letters to myself, scolding, bashing, and complaining to myself about how unbearable I was. The amount of self-deprecation and negative self-talk was surprising to read. I had no idea how depressed I was living.

I was so unkind to my 19 year old self. The things I told her, the way I treated her body, the comprises I asked her to make for the sake of others. I didn't understand who she was, and I couldn't love her. At least not unconditionally.

Yet, looking through these pages now, I can see so clearly how incredibly strong she was even in the midst of her pain. How her integrity was deeper than her superficial actions. How she fought for her authenticity. Even in her darkness, she fought for her truth. Those moments where she found herself standing at the cliff of her sanity. She fought for her truth. She was resilient and powerful even then. How mean and ruthless we can be towards the parts of ourselves we do not yet understand.

Although this young women is not here now, I am. She created me.

I am now what I already created. I am now what I already built. I am now. And I am so grateful to her.

In this realization I have found grace for myself. A patience that has allowed me to appreciate, love, and honor who I am. For even in this moment, I am creating me.

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