As I worked through all my emotions last week, I also happened to hurt my foot enough that I could no longer put any weight on it.  (I should have known to stop running, yet I figured it couldn’t be hurt that badly so I went for one more run, which seems to have done me in.  Unfortunately.)

Anyways, this post is not about my foot. It’s about last week and all my very real and uncomfortable emotions.

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Most days I have no idea what I’m going to write about, and I just sit down and see what comes out.  Some days I literarily laugh out loud as I write.  Other days I just smile because I cannot help but smile.  And some days, I just procrastinate on writing, because I know I’m not ready to dive into what’s been jumping around my mind.  And other days I turn to Mr. MPB in desperation and say I have nothing to say that anyone wants to read about.

And more often then I’d like to admit, I’ll be sitting at my desk with tears running down my cheeks.  I make no secrete of the fact that my life hasn’t been a fairy tale, and whether I’m living through some sort of current catastrophe or living in the memories of a past loss, my emotions are very real and often raw.

For instance, last week I knew what I needed to write.  I knew I had to face the emotions around the 20th anniversary of my mom and sister being killed in a car accident.  I started writing Friday’s post earlier in the week, then I edited it almost daily throughout the week.  Each day, I had tears rolling down my cheeks as I worked through memories that I normally push to the outer edges of my mind.  Continual drafting and editing is not typical for me, but this was different and I knew I needed to spend the time.  Simply, I needed to face the emotions I’ve been hiding from.

In the end, I pushed the publish button, once again sharing my uniquely broken yet healing self with the world.

I realize Friday’s post isn’t an award winning piece of writing.  But that’s not my goal.

My goal is entirely different.  I think back to when I started this blog, the reason I chose to start writing was that I knew others had to be going through Recurrent Pregnancy Loss, in silence, just like me.  I wanted to share my experiences and if I help just one other person, then I knew My Perfect Breakdown was worth the time and effort.

Looking back through my life I now laugh at the amount of times in my life people have suggested I write.  I literally cannot count the times I’ve been given journals and been encouraged to write about my life.  I was simply never willing too.  Then one day, in a moment of desperation, I googled how to start a blog.  And then, I started writing on my blog.

And now, somewhere along the way, I began realizing how therapeutic writing is for me.  As altruistic as my initial intentions were with creating My Perfect Breakdown, it turns out that writing is the best therapy I’ve ever had.  This blog has truly become a part of who I am, and I firmly believe writing helps me be a better person.

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