You can call me Meghan if you want.

I go by Meg for the most part these days. Anyone that has met me in the last three years knows me as Meg, so for the most part I get called Meg (or teacher meeegggggg).
Today, I was in the grocery store and I heard “Hey Meghan!” and I quickly looked up. It was weird the knee jerk reaction that I don’t always have. I’m around other Meghan’s so I usually don’t respond. The person who said hi was thankfully someone I knew–a friend from high school who also randomly lives up here. I said hi and smiled and continued on.

Tonight, after taking all afternoon to clean and rearrange my room for something fresh, I sat here typing and deleting and typing more and deleting more.

Nothing fit, nothing flowed.

Because I get frustrated with rehashing old wounds, old dilemmas, old thoughts.

Because we are 3 weeks out of 2016 and I am working so hard to be hopeful and find truth for myself.

I am desperately desiring there to be no spillover.

I was called Meghan for the first 27 years of my life. I was rarely called anything different (except Moses but that’s another story). I still am called Meghan by anyone who knew me before 2013. 

I started being called Meg solely because it was what my name on Facebook was when I went on the world race. And it just kind of stuck. It’s followed me ever since. And I like it. It marks multiple things. People who still call me Meghan are those who have been with me. Those who have stuck by me and I them. People who call me Meg either walked with me through the transformation or are currently still growing with me.

It’s a beautiful bookmark.

But today?

Hearing Meghan caused me to feel a lot of things.

I felt ugly.

I felt spillover.

I felt silenced by anxiety that probably wasn’t even mine.

I don’t like to deal with things I’ve already dealt with.

I’m currently in a battle with still typing versus deleted the 350 words currently on the page.

But I’m not.


Because there are a lot of things and feelings and issues all around us that are causing a lot of stuff in the atmosphere. It’s stuffing the air with fear and anxiety and that’s not what I want my air filled with.

Part of being kind to myself this year is to attempt rid myself of things bottled up inside. Be it to friends, or to some blank pages or even to this blog. 

I have hidden anxieties and parts of my story still drenched in shame that I want to lay to rest this year. I truly believe they are covering beautiful parts of myself I don’t even realize exist.

I think part of being kind to ourselves is coming to terms with, coming to grips with, and coming face to face with things we still deem ugly. 

None of those ugly things are your identity. Yes, they might have strengthened part of who you are but they aren’t you. We are not what we lack. We are the lovely parts. We are the strengths which are beautified by what we deem as weakness.

I’m going to attempt to detoxify myself of things I deem ugly, in an attempt to realize how much more beautiful they have made me.

Bottom line: Let’s be kind to our stories my friends. 

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