Whoa. Last time I paid this thing a visit, I was only 27.
27 was probably the most difficult year of my life, if not the worst. But all the struggling I did made it the most important year, too. I think I learned more, grew more, and changed more while I was 27 than I did collectively over all the years prior.
27 brought out the worst in me, brought me down to my basest level. I finally saw the girl I really was...and I didn't like her. I didn't hate her, either; I felt sorry for her. She was a victim, someone who let all the pain and ugliness around her ruin all that was good within her. She was pathetic.
But I'm a year older now, and thanks to the many ways I was blessed when I needed it most, I'm not that girl anymore. I've never been stronger or more self-assured. I now know that no matter what happens to me, I can and will survive.
That girl is still in here. Sometimes I catch glimpses of her under the surface. And honestly? I'm kind of glad. It feels good to know that I'm not her anymore because I choose not to be.
