The Beginning of Autumn…

I recently had a conversation with a dear friend. Somehow or another, I ended up bringing out all of my journals that I had. The oldest one went back to July of 2008 – I had just turned 15 years old. We spent quite some time going through old snippets from each diary. Of course, as I started reading aloud some of my teenage thoughts, my friend wanted to hear more of the nitty gritty.

At first, I was nervous to share. I mean, these were my innermost personal thoughts. But my life has always been… interesting to say the least and I am quite the character if I do say so myself, so I decided to open myself up. As expected, most of the entries were funny as hell. My thought process back then, what mattered to me, and the way I interpreted events made us laugh because the way I interacted with myself and expressed myself… you would have thought I was writing a script for a soap opera.

When playtime was over, my friend asked how I felt reading about the person I was back then. The question was definitely unexpected since I had just finished sharing the thoughts of who I was from years ago which was exhausting as is. Now my adult self was being asked to process my thoughts about the thoughts of the younger version of myself.

If that doesn’t sound draining, I don’t know what does.

After a while, I elaborated on a pattern I noticed of how I experienced my life back then, but on a larger scale. It was a cycle of having hope then being disappointed that I had the audacity to give myself permission to be hopeful. One day I was writing, “life is great, I’m really on the right track!” and the very next entry would start out with “think again, Autumn, because life doesn’t grant you any favors...”. Imagine the struggle of, as a teenager, yearning so greatly for a better life but feeling undeserving.

Needless to say, I struggled. Growing up wasn’t easy, especially in elementary and middle school. I was bullied for being different, albeit not in the physical form. It was more in the form of whispers as I walked past, the looks I got and giggles I’d hear as notes got passed around me, the girls who would taunt me, asking me how many times I got held back (due to my height and being developed for my age). I didn’t fit in with my peers. I thought differently than them and I wasn’t interested in what was “cool”, which left me spending more time with my teachers, since I was more relaxed around adults.

The ups and the downs I experienced on the daily were funny on the surface level, but when I thought a little deeper, I realized my entries weren’t really that funny at all. What actually happened was a complete disregard of my struggles. I tried my best to make light of situations by distracting myself with finding the humor in it all.

Although it was hard, I was unwavering. I didn’t give in to fit in because fitting in wasn’t important to me. From what I gathered reading my journals, what was most important to me was doing what I could to live a life I enjoyed.

I cherish my journals and taking that moment looking back. It was entertaining reminiscing, imagining my younger self from my adult eyes, remembering all the good times I’ve had and the moments that made me who I am.

The best part about reading my journals was seeing the sense of hope I had. I am inspired by it. I appreciate the determination that was instilled in me to always aspire for a better tomorrow. And that’s the beauty of it all. I’m glad I still have those journals. They allow me to never forget who I was and that offers me reminders of how I’ve grown to become who I am today.

I may make it a consistent practice to take some time to re-read my life story. I have overcome, I have remained resilient, and I now know I was always strong from the beginning.

Remember your strength.

Love,

Autumn