Broken Promises 

“Yes! I would love to see you! Let’s get together soon… It’s been way too long…”

Words without the action to back them are empty… But money and distance are the killer of all relationships… 

Sadly, this is the life we live. Scraping by and making promises, trying to convince ourselves there is  some hope to carry them out, but falling flat on our faces and watching life take off without us in the end. 

Adulting sucks. 

So sorry for the delay 

Guys, I would like to apologize for my lack of posting lately. So much has been going on I just haven’t been able to find the time to create new content. 

Never fear though. I plan on trying to post something tomorrow since I have a day off. 

Love and appreciate you all. Thanks for your continued support. 

Question of Affection 

How is it that you can break up with someone, and in that moment be comepletely sure it’s because you don’t feel for them what you thought you did, and then months later you are hit with a sudden wave of “did I really make the right choice?!” 

I’ve been wondering about this question for quite some time now as I’ve been personally struggling with it lately. How do we know if we really miss someone or if we just miss the feeling of a filled hole or two that someone provided? What if we just miss not having the things they did for us and don’t really miss them for who they are? 

It’s a confusing line to walk. Even more so when what you both decided to walk away from seemed like a pretty good thing; Or at least, it was comfortable. 

Maybe too comfortable…

I wonder if as much as we love comfort as human beings if there is a part of us that knows the things that are truly worthwhile in life often come with a large amount of discomfort and so when we embark on finding that other half that is so important to us comfort only starts out as enough, but finishes empty. 

However… If we haven’t found that new, challenging, wonderful relationship that fits us just right there is always this weird part of us that looks back at that comfort we once had and we suddenly miss it so much that we start to wonder if we made the right choice… 

This is my current struggle. 

In conclusion, I hate emotions. They mess with your head and make you unsure of when you were sure. 


Sitting in complete silence is like standing with your back to the woods at night.

I find my heart racing at speeds that should only come with fear and my mind immediately seeks out my insecurities. Why is it we are so bad at being alone with ourselves?

When I was in Psychology class at Liberty my professor once challenged us to go somewhere by ourselves, with no people anywhere around us, phones turned off and not even our own voices as background sound, and just sit for a few hours.

Easy. It will be nice to get away from everyone for a while any way.

Those were my first thoughts.

I remember hiking up the mountain behind our dorms and sitting on a stump in the woods with the intention of doing just that. The world around me was quiet, apart from the occasional breeze and, while it was peaceful at first, it eventually became incredibly unnerving. By the end of the first hour I felt like crying, running, checking my phone, and screaming. There is nothing like silence to reflect what you really think about yourself back at you. There is nothing like silence to make you scared to be left alone in life. There is nothing like silence to make you want to do anything and everything but just sit there.

I hated it.

I hated being with myself.

I hated myself.

I can’t say that this was the first time I realized this, but this was the first time I wasn’t able to distract myself from it with something or someone else.

The second hour was full of shortcomings, mistakes, missed opportunities, sadness, bitterness, fear, and self-loathing. There was so much about me that I found annoying and unworthy. I was a coward, I was overweight, I hadn’t applied myself in school, I was working a lame job, I was single, I wasn’t funny, I was a bad Christian…. I was the type of person I wanted to avoid.

I cried a lot during this hour.

I cried until I was numb.

I cried until I could no longer hear my thoughts and felt nothing but emptiness.

The third hour was full of real silence. Real silence and staring. Staring at nothing and everything all at once.

I had faced myself. I had been tried, I had been tested, and I had been found wanting…

I remember looking up at the sky for a long time during this hour and wondering if God was watching me. I mean, really watching me; Studying me and wondering if He had made a mistake.

I sure thought He had.

The sun was setting at this point and it was growing too cold to sit still any longer. I didn’t miss seeing people anymore. I didn’t long to check my phone or distract myself. I didn’t wish to go back to my dorm; But it was time to go and so I got up and started walking.

I wish I could tell you I found my purpose during those hours. I wish I could tell you that it ended up being the most comforting and peaceful time of my life and that it left me feeling inspired and refreshed. I wish I could tell you that I couldn’t wait to do it again.

None of those things were true.

In fact, it seemed like it had done more damage than it had done good as I dragged my feet through mud and pushed my way through thorns on the way back down the mountain side. Why on earth had my professor given us this stupid challenge?

It didn’t strike me until much later that at the end of those hours I had forgotten about everything and everyone else and had looked up.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized I needed more silence.

Ethics and Personal Writing

In “Ethics in Personal Writing” from Telling True Stories, Dickerson says, “To write about yourself and people in your life is to accept that, in part, you are a bastard. You must face and come to understand your own demons.”

After reading the context surrounding this quote by Dickerson and thinking about it for a while in light of glimpsing my classmates brief memoirs this week, I feel I have, at the very least, a basic understanding of what she meant by this.

When you take on the task of writing about yourself or the people around you you must be willing to dig deep and exploit truths about yourself and those people that are very intimate, personal, and sometimes ugly. If you are to be honest with yourself and your readers this means you are being open about details that may be painful to relive for you and those you are writing about and may also cause embarrassment and conflict amongst you and those people. It is a bit like getting down and dirty in a counseling session, writing down everything that comes out in that session, and showing it all to the world. You are forced to acknowledge things about yourself you may have been trying to deny, forget, or cover up and it also means coming to terms with the darker side of your relationships with other people. Writing openly is a very difficult and intimate experience. It causes you to focus intently on each emotion, situation, relationship, or circumstance that you are writing about in a way that nothing else does. In a way that can be cathartic but it is often more emotionally exhausting and takes a lot of mental work, depending on what part of your life you are sharing.

Writing like this also forces you to face problems or negative opinions you may have of others which may or may not be founded on truth. On the flip side of this you may also be forced to acknowledge how you have been mistreated or dismissed by those you love, which means admitting that some people in your life may not have truly loved you as much as you may have thought. Often times it is easier to accept that there is something wrong with yourself than it is to accept that someone you love may not love you in return, or at least love you in the way that they should, and there is nothing you can do about it.

To be a good writer at all one must be willing to be open and intimate in their words. This means you are making yourself vulnerable to others and as a general rule that is a very hard thing to do because we as humans hate not being in control and hate the thought of people seeing who we really are and rejecting us for that. However, some of us feel the need to share our lives through writing so that we can be known and that we can make an impact on other people. Some of us also process life better when we write about it and because of it, like Dickerson said about herself. There are other reasons as well, but these are the thoughts that popped into my mind due to this journal question.

(This was a recent journal entry I did for my nonfiction class that I found interesting. If you would like, tell me what you think about Dickerson’s quote in the comments)