I’ve been free writing for a little over three years now. And I talked a lot about chiropractic college as I began my journey into what I believed would end in me calling myself a doctor one day.
That didn’t happen. The more care I received, the more I understood that my entire life and perspective was beautiful... and that the natural medicine scene was in good hands.
I wrote this journal post on this today and it really screams the same freedom I feel within myself — even though nothing has changed in my physical reality.
And I think that’s what I used to think. When I fully recover, “I will be this and that” and this is what it means to be “healthy” and “mentally sound.” I had this whole vision of who I was when I was at my highest potential and then I realized that vision wasn’t originally mine.
(That’s what chiropractic school taught me — we all have our own highest potential; it’s personal and individual.)
This other version of my dream life was implanted by my parents due to their fears and superstitions. I’ve been releasing a lot of that lately in my art and in my journaling sessions.
It feels like puking (the act of taking a wordless concept and attempting to throw letters at it hoping something sticks).
So.
I hope you are enjoying reading about this mental prison break — because I am grateful for each and every one of you that reads my work.
Dear diary,
I’ve been thinking about the future a lot recently. Actually, I haven’t stopped since giving birth back in 2019. I’ve been watching my dreams die in ways I couldn’t imagine; I am finally grieving the loss of my stolen childhood. I am healing the past at the same time that I am beginning to see a path.
My direction sense was warped. I credit it to how I love to disassociate in the car and on long rides staring out the window — while listening to music. Also, I didn’t grow up driving in my hometown. I think there’s something to say about learning how to get around the place where one is born first. Learning to get home and to high school on time every morning. Learning to be mildly independent. I had a three point zero grade point average and my parents acted as if I had all F’s.
I am sorry; I didn’t care enough to be an A student. I mean — I am capable, sure. But I’d rather write for seven hours in my diary every week and settle with a variety of letters. I wrote my college essay explaining my C’s in a short essay entitled, “C is for cookie and it’s good enough for me.” I can’t blame them for recommending the parallel program aka community college.
I am classically educated in some senses. I can read, I can write; and graduate school taught me how to think. The lessons went beyond any stupid standardized test and I am grateful for my time at school.
I don’t miss high school anymore; which is a weird paradigm to evolve out of at twenty-nine. I focused so heavily on those lost years; those days that were stolen for some petty parenting shit. I was so angry that I couldn’t progress forward.
I took the long way — the scenic trail that last 17 miles longer than the short trip straight up the mountain.
And I don’t know where the fuck I am going. My entire life fell out from beneath my feet and I’ve never been happier. Such a try hard — I wanted try flying. I wanted to try something that was more up my alley then up one of my parents paths.
I became a massage therapist because my mom liked foot rubs; how deeply I wanted to please her after they sent me off.
I became a chiropractic student because it made my dad feel accomplished when he bragged to all his patients that he had all three kids in graduate school.
And I needed some type of external validation constantly. You know where I don’t need peanuts from the gallery on onlookers? When I write and hit post. I had to follow MY flow. And what poured out of me so effortlessly was not this academic pursuit of dreams that landed in my lap.
This was my fathers dream; not mine.
And overtime I couldn’t see the difference.
I think that’s what chiropractic care helped me with the most:
untangling my neurology
so that I could see
the illusion of this shared
reality.
Who am I?
I am an artist
— whatever the fuck that means.
It feels good
To just be
Alive.
Love,
