Nothing I’m sharing will be considered profound, except the fact that I’m sharing my personal thoughts in a public space.
Good things can only come when you start the year in a Jane Birkin-worthy faux fur and a brand new home, right? That’s how I rang in 2017: with a giant coat, a tiny bodysuit, and cheap pineapple-flavored vodka (which was not by choice). In hindsight, the Smirnoff was probably a bad omen—and probably an indication of all the hiccups that would later come to haunt me (figurative, not literal)—but aside from that, 2017 was big. Full. Momentous. A year that started off slow and steady—stagnant at times, even—but would close with a bang.
I had the pleasure of meeting, working with, and appearing on air with Martha Stewart. But it’s remembering the months of work going into the launch that made the magnitude of its success all the sweeter: the weekends spent working, the nights I worked late, the 12-hour days. All made worth it to bask in the privilege of one of the most successful, self-made women in the world. I imagine that she’s where she is today for her tenacity and unapologetic sense of self—two of many qualities that have enabled her to reinvent herself and continue to be an icon through the decades—and it’s a reminder to never allow myself to fall into the trap of being “nice.” Nice never made a woman resilient. Or happy. Or successful.
Only towards the end of this year (with Martha as my inspiration) did I learn to devour—still with guilt, but I’m pledging to free myself of that shame. A la Margaret Atwood, whose words pulse through my mind and are inscribed indefinitely on my skin, serving as a reminder: a promise to allow myself permission to recognize and celebrate success instead of diminishing those moments.
Another inscription runs down my thigh: my mantra. In one year, I went to the same artist twice and walked away with three tattoos. My mother barely reacted to them, a relief (and surprise). Not that it should matter, but it does: at 25 and relatively independent (except when there’s a giant spider in my house and Dad is the only one who can save me), I still look to my parents for guidance and approval. For most of my life I fought against it, but in 2017, I’ve come to accept and understand it.
Also in 2017, I ended a shitty business partnership. It seems like common sense to release yourself from negative relationships, but when you’re in the throes of it, you keep telling yourself that potential opportunities are worth the sacrifice and more importantly, you can’t disappoint the innocent bystanders (in my case, the students). God, the headspace that opened up was incredible, and it allowed for another door to open. In 2018: I will trust my intuition and defend it fearlessly.
This was the year I harbored the most self-doubt. If anyone is still visiting this space, I think you could see it in my writing; and if you’ve been around me in person, I’m thankful for all the words of encouragement and patience. Learning to turn a deaf ear to imposter’s syndrome and struggling with self-love—though normal for any 20-something-year-old woman, is no easy battle.
Twenty-five was tough. 2017 was rough. I’m not naive enough to believe that the drop of a ball can change the course of mindset, but I do believe that it’s enough of a start to inspire a shift. Thank you for being along for the ride—whether you’ve been here for the ten-odd years or just here because Google led you astray (to which I celebrate, because I’ve made the rankings somehow!).
Wishing you all a happy, healthy, and magical new year.
. . .
xx
Leave a Reply