It’s been what? Four, five years since I last wrote anything. Now, I’m not talking about the silly little captions, proposals, briefs, technical blog posts, and emails that have dominated my life in the past few years as I navigated a career in marketing and content creation. I’m talking about real, raw, somewhat reflective writing, and I might add (without AI’s assistance) writing.

When I started a blog in 2016, after spending several months at home before gaining admission into the university, I thought I would be a renowned writer—a screenwriter, too, perhaps—and one day see my work on a big screen. From notes on fashion to tips, fiction, poems, and articles, I wrote it all. I even got paid for it at some point, and I still do, but not the kind you’d think of. 

At the time, one of my dreams was to write for established publications like Teen Vogue and Eater. What I do not know was when I stopped believing that I could actually write anything good enough to be published. There were too many rules; as someone with other interesting passions, I was conflicted about what an ideal writer was. Was I to write in a way that I’d speak? Was I to write in a way that could be understood, felt, or seen? These were the questions that pondered my mind, and as I read through many articles on Medium to discover different writers’ styles. Just today, I found the answer to my long, unrequited break from the pen or keypad, as I initially wrote this in my notes. I’d been so afraid to write because I had somehow convinced myself that I did not need to be heard. It was even much easier to relish in that conviction as I started to pivot into content creation and got so many appraisals. So truly, in my head, that’s a closed case. Nothing to see here, folks, just the food and, perhaps, a bit of ‘vibes’?

This idea, harmless as it was at first, has somehow been replicated in other facets of my life, like a virus. It reflects on how discerning I am of social media posts, friendships that I maintain, conversations that I participate in, and the strong opinions that I’d very much still like to keep to myself as I navigate entering into a new shell of being human.

With nearly six years into adulthood, I am starting to learn to go easy on myself. I’d like to believe that I spent most of my teenage years being literally perfect and I am now paying dearly for it as I scrimmage what’s left of my perfectionism, burnout, and future. I do not know how long it’ll take me to write another piece, but here’s what I know will happen: I’m going to let go. Let go of the censorship, judgment, and fear so I can fully accept myself in entirety.

To the 20-something-year-old reading this, many times, people say your early twenties are hard. Well, that’s not arguable; however, they do not tell us how hard it is, what makes it hard, and how to pull through, because I never really think that you get out of that phase unless you go back to your core. I might have found scraps of my core in writing, and embracing it will help me find my way back to the girl who was very full of life but also had big, lofty dreams.

I hope you find your anchor, too, because life may be rocky at 20-something, but at least you know who you are or where you want to be.