Sometimes the only way I can know how I feel is to write it.
I’ve always been a verbal processor. I call it thinking on the outside of my head. Words and I have a deep, powerful connection. Being able to name a thought or a feeling or an idea is an important part of my process. To some people it’s just semantics, but to me it’s the blueprint for my perception of the world.
So I write. When things happen to me, when I experience new things or re-process old things. Words are how I make sense of the world. This also means I talk a lot. Occupational hazard I guess.
Words have always been a powerful outlet for me. My friends and colleagues joke that if I had a super power it would be “reframing”. When I can put words to an experience, I can hold it. The words I’ve written throughout this process have kept me sane. If you’ve read the ones that came before these you may understand.
But I’m learning about a dangerous side to words. Both spoken and unspoken. I’m starting to see a problematic element emerging around the way I’ve been framing me narrative recently. It’s no secret that I have been embarking on a journey that is very familiar to many millennials, the career shift. With that comes learning new skills and repackaging old ones. Putting yourself out there and making connections. All of these things have to be neatly…