Hopefully this is the worst I’ll ever be

“Anyone who isn’t embarrassed of who they were last year probably isn’t learning enough.” – Alain de Botton

My mother commented “In 10 years when you review these, we pray you’ll not be mortified,” on my last post.

As merciful and kind that sentiment is, Mama, I pray I am. I pray my mortification abounds. If it doesn’t, then have I made as much progress as I could have?

Two nights ago, when I resurrected this blog, I was thoroughly appalled by what I’d unblinkingly – proudly – posted over 6 years ago. It was utterly atrocious. Back then I wrote only what my immediate audience wanted to hear, in the ways I’d heard them speak. Nothing from my own mind, or in my own voice. I’ve since deleted everything I could manage to dig up before 2018 and a few posts sprinkled throughout the following years (maybe one day I’ll find them again and be able to compare my progress).

My writing is not much to speak of, even now. My hopes are that I can string together some words worth reading in 2-3 years’ time. I write simply because it’s what I would tell me to do if I were my own patient, or child. I can’t revisit even my latest posts too often because I’ve hardly written enough to develop my own voice. I hate sharing thoughts as I’m thinking them – emblazoning in stone something I’ll have way better wording for tomorrow. I feel dreadfully exposed & locking my nakedness into the internet.

But I never made any progress getting in my head. I’m hardly as improved now as I will be this time next year. I hope this is the worst I’ll ever be. With every day I turn a little more into the original me. Tomorrow I won’t be this mortifying bc I’m putting in a little effort to improve my ability today. & I’m proud because I’m finally okay with being where I am, as I trudge a little closer to where I want to be.