An apology to my younger self

So, I have officially been in Alaska for two weeks and I don’t think it has even hit me yet that this is my home now. When I say the word “home” it brings up many mixed emotions, for a lot of different reasons. My childhood had its ups and downs, as I’m sure most of ours did. (And by childhood, I mean 0-21… I was a late bloomer.)

When I was pondering what I was going to write about this week, I started thinking about that world that I lived in. For those of you that didn’t know me from 0-21, I have many people in my life that will fill you in on my less-than-understanding personality. Now, I know I am the person I am today because of the person I was and I can’t have one without the other. Fine, whatever universe. I get it. Namaste.

Actually though, I hate the word regret because I know that it’s not helpful to dwell on our past mistakes and forget to live in the present. Totally ripped that off from Dumbledore, but my yeezy what an inspiring wizard.

Though, if I had to pick a fav Dumbledore quote it would be: “Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.” This is why I blog [and also because I’m super basic & proud of it]. Writing is my journey to healing. I am harder on myself than anyone ever has been or will be. But I want to move on from the pain I have had.

Therefore, this week I will be writing an apology letter to my younger self, so I can write it down, let it go, and move forward:

Dear little Rah,

I use the word little because I know it would mean something to you… because you spend your free time feeling big. I want to apologize for this. I’m sorry I used you’re brain and energy on something that shouldn’t have gotten in your way. I’m currently writing a blog about me and I promised not to talk about the eating disorder, but I needed to briefly mention it to you because you took the brunt of the struggle. I will leave it at that. I am sorry.

I am sorry that you spent your time angry at your family. You wanted so badly to be the families you knew at school. The ones that appeared to have lots of money and pretty things and not as many people. The homes with brand new furniture, a stay at home parent, and the perfect little life. FYI, Hannah Montana was right: “nobody’s perfect, you live and you learn it.” I’m sorry that I didn’t see the energy your family put into making you feel like those kids. All the money they spent on trying to make you feel like you fit in, with dance and cheerleading and trips with school. If I knew how bad they worked, I would have known how loved you were. You would be nowhere without them. Also, you have no idea how much you learned about being thrifty. It is a great life skill.

That includes your sisters, who you continuously pushed away. All they did was love you, and all I did was dream of a life away from everyone. Let me tell you, I caught the travel bug and I did leave, but I also call them all the time because I spend a lot of days missing them. I realized how great everyone in the family is, and luckily not too late. Would you believe it, they are your best friends. #blessed I’m sorry I didn’t let you see that sooner.

I’m sorry that you didn’t understand that boys actually suck and you were better off alone. EVEN MORE SORRY that you didn’t grasp just how amazing being single can be. If only I knew then what I knew now about being a woman, with her own brain and her own destination. You might be disappointed to hear that I am still single, but please don’t be. It’s actually great. I move around a lot and have met some really wonderful people. I know one day I will cross paths with someone who will fit right into my adventures. I really got into poetry and I repeat this poem from Rupi Kaur often:

i do not want to have you

to fill the empty parts of me

i want to be full on my own

i want to be so complete

i could light a whole city

and then i want to have you

cause the two of us combined

could set it on fire

I’m no longer looking for my other half because I am already full, I’m looking for someone else who is also full of life. I want to set the world on fire. Which reminds me… I am so sorry that I ever let you like that boy. So, so sorry about that. My bad. He ended up being a real POS, so no worries that he didn’t love you back in the way I wanted him to.

I’m sorry that you spent your nights laying awake with the lights on and the music loud. This was, biologically, stupid. You’re body needs, like, legitimate rest and your mom was so right when she said you shouldn’t sleep like that. She also told you not to sleep in jeans and a bra, but you had to because were ready to run at any moment.

And when I say you were ready to run, it’s not a reference to the Dixie Chicks or hating your life, but rather our extreme anxiety of murderers and ghosts. Yeah, super sorry about that. Not murdered in 27 years, so I was totally wrong.

Speaking of being wrong, I’m sorry that I encouraged you to constantly judge your friends. They were going through shit too and I wouldn’t let you be there for them like you wanted to be. The good news though is that they all still loved you. And yes, they are all still in my life. I’m pretty freaking lucky.

I’m mostly sorry that I can’t meet you now and show you everything I’ve become regardless of the pessimism from 0-21.

Also important to note that I’m not sorry at all that I wanted you to see the world. I’ve seen a lot and will see more. The travel bug never left.

Finally, I’m really not sorry that your heart was always big, no matter what I was telling you in your head.

Love always,

Big rah

A Fresh Start

Guess who’s back with a brand new blog, she got everybody on the internet going mad? It’s me, you guessed right. For those of you familiar with my writing, I enjoy being dorky and it’s not going away #sorrynotsorry. Oh, I also enjoy all things pop culture and that will be here to stay too. However, I have switched blogging venues and content for two very important reasons:

1. Tumblr reminds me of high school and I hated high school.
2. I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY WEIGHT/FOOD ANYMORE.

See, here is the thing… while talking about my weight loss journey was helpful at times, it also became obsessive. Go figure, when your diagnosed with an eating disorder obsessive is your middle name. “Hi, I’m Sarah Obsessive Robinson. I constantly talk about, think about, dream about, and cry about food. Will you marry me?” Sounds like a great Tinder bio, don’t you think? (This may be the reason I am single…) I digress. I’ve decided that part of my recovery from binge eating disorder MUST involve making time for things that do not involve what I am eating this week. Instead, I would like to take time each week to focus on other important things to me like my new move to Alaska, why Kesha is my hero, the #Metoo campaign, and what color nail polish I’m really into this week. Okay, maybe not a whole blog on what color nail polish I’m into, but I will say matte top coat is my new favorite thing.

I am currently writing this post on the ferry to Alaska where I will begin my journey as a real life social worker. I FEEL LIKE SUCH AN ADULT. 4 days ago I packed up my car, appropriately named Amelia Rodham Robinson, and hit the road for Washington, where I caught the ferry to Alaska. Let me tell you, I’ve met some pretty cool people along the way. Including, but not limited to, a woman named Sarah Lee, who swears she is a terrible baker, a little boy that hopes he see’s the pigeon he was feeding again because he is going to bring him a dessert, and a guy that moved from California to Washington, quit his job of 10 years on a whim and went fishing in Alaska and now hopes to open a gym. This trip has reminded me that people are spectacular and resilient. Hell, it reminded me that I am also those things. Since I have had so much alone time, I’ve gotten the chance to really get to know myself. Things I like about me, things I don’t, things I regret, things I miss, and things I can’t wait for.

Aside from pondering my life, I also had the chance to scream music at the top of my lungs for an extended period of time. Most played: Hamilton Soundtrack.

‘Look at where you are,

Look at where you started from,

The fact that you’re alive is a miracle.’

These lines swirl inside my head over & over again.

If I can stay alive, that would be enough.

And to me staying alive doesn’t mean my pulse is beating and my lungs are breathing. To me, staying alive is feeling alive. As someone who lives with an ebb and flow of depression, sometimes feeling alive is watching 12 hours of “Are you the one?” on MTV and drinking a bottle of red wine. Sometimes, it means that I travel halfway across the country to follow of my dreams of being a social worker. And of course, there is everything in between. The most glorious part is that I know what I need to be alive.

So, this blog is about me, a 27-year-old single (get at me), white girl, recovering binge-eater, social worker, intersectional feminist, pescatarian, Sagittarian, ocean lover just trying to make it in the world as best as I know how. I know, just what the world needed, right? Probably not, but that doesn’t really matter to me. This blog is my place of worship… this & goodwill. Therefore, I would like to end this first post with a prayer:

Dear Female Yeezy,

Thank you for this life.

Awomen.

PS. I hope to keep this blog much more mixed with content, so any suggestions, requests, or tips are greatly appreciated.

PPS. You can be critical, but also be nice, because I’m super sensitive. As my dad would say (well actually Wayne Dyer because he is #obsessed) “if you have the option of being right or being kind, choose kind.”