Wherever I go I feel like an impostor.

The process of being directly honest and open is hard for me. I’m struggling with writing anything new that I like, that I can be proud of. I’m struggling with finding my voice, my truth, what I want to say. What am I saying? I’m struggling with grad school applications. With the statement of purpose. With sitting down and writing about myself and why I’m qualified to go on to higher education, higher learning. To be allowed into a space of writing and technique and critique. I’m struggling.

If I’m honest, which I’m trying to be, there are some parts of myself I’ve been avoiding. A lot of parts. It’s true. I haven’t been writing about these parts because they are shrouded in painful memories. Memories associated with my undergrad and the burnout I felt. The fear surrounding those memories. I don’t want that to happen again. I don’t want that feeling, that life, those months, those years. I don’t want those back. And so I avoid those parts of me I associate with that time.

An honest and true reflection of myself. Which means confronting those parts I have compartmentalized and avoided.

Wherever I go I feel like an impostor.

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