ON FINDING A JOURNAL FROM 17

A journal entry from age 17. 

I sank to my knees. With each syllable, tears sprang to my eyes, so by the end the dam of emotion spilled over onto my cheeks, down my neck, cascading down my chest. Rivers of revealed devastation. 

 May 8, 2009

“Garrett (my brother) did very well at his track meet today, taking 1st in the long jump and the 400. I am so proud of him, he’s really starting to hit his stride. But I hate that I also can’t help to think about myself. I’m a failure. I’ve done nothing and it even feels like my horse training sucks and I’m not doing anything special with them. Garrett’s amazing at guitar, singing, track, cross country, has so many friends and girls always swooning over him, and I’m basically doing nothing. Once again, he’s the star and I’m just…his fan. I mean, what can I say I’ve done? I’m good at getting in car accidents and having surgeries and up-ending everyone’s lives and getting sick and causing trouble. Everyone has some kind of claim to fame in this family and compared to the rest of my siblings I’m just taking up useless space. I feel so gray, so boring and unachievable. I’m not jealous of Garrett, I just wish I had my own thing that I totally dominated, but it seems like everything I do and try is a losing battle, even with my horses it’s hard because of my injuries and I can’t stay consistent enough to get them to their potential. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just be that loser sibling who never actually does anything. I feel sad. I feel sorry for everyone putting up with me. I hate pity and I feel like everyone pities me right now. Like, “she’s the Wolle always getting hurt and going to doctors and troubling her family”. Probably being dramatic, but that’s how it feels. I wish I could see into the future.”

Every cell in my body held its breath. Each vein in my heart was ripped and shredded. I have always had a perfectionism streak, a weird juxtaposition of being the oldest twin and youngest duo of the family. Growing up with a range of interests, yet nothing felt like it was mine to own except my horses, that of course was marred by a car accident. I was so harsh and severe with myself. A baby and felt like a failure for supposedly not having dominated something. So much despair. My poor, sweet girl. To grab her face, pull her to this year. Sit her down and have a powerpoint presentation. Smooth the worry lines in her forehead that I still carry. Tell her to soften. I want to release her from the comparison and mental games, the dangerous thoughts that come and go and sometimes stay longer than is healthy. To release her from feeling like she has to fit in and belong anywhere, that we end up creating that belonging and sense of home wherever we go. 

And I think it’s so triggering, because in my heart there are new ways that I still believe those same things, right? How have the circumstances shifted but my thoughts have remained the same? When I turn 40, what will I think while perusing my journals from year, age 30? I do acknowledge that I am quite a bit wordier now, so I will probably be breathing through and going, “oh my god get to the point, but….wow”. I hope I don’t have as much blinding me, paralysis of decision making, a block meaning I’m unable to see the beauty and unique perspectives, forgetting to live in the moments while I have them. I fight for it every day, am better about it now, but in what ways am I still that 17 yr old? 

Therapy has garnered healing inner child wounds, however, it feels like we haven’t made it that far, as much as I’ve gone. Thinking of getting to age 17 seems daunting, even getting into my 20’s feels insurmountable when there is so much to work with early on. My other childhood journals are back at my parent’s house and honestly, I am so thankful for that. I might never have been able to find my way back from that rabbit hole. 

How do we heal these wounds within us? Some so subtle we forgot they were there, hidden beneath layers and layers of scar tissue, glossed over and forgotten because of more adult items and situations. Acknowledging, going back, holding yourself at that age, asking what you needed and giving it to them, looking around now and opening your eyes to how you still keep those patterns in play. What do you need to do to make changes, to release. 

What are some ways the 17 year old version of you is still active in your life? Do they come out in romantic relationships, work situations, friendships? Do you see yourself through their eyes, still as 17 and craving so much more? The teenage film covering all of the amazing things you have done and experienced? 

I saw this TikTok about saving a compliment from a boss for a “work folder” to use then when asking for a promotion. Now I think I have to start a “Badass Folder”, where I save pictures or texts or things that I’ve done, from cool friend hangs, adventures, to work stuff and trips, etc, for the bad days, the gray, to look through the folder and remind myself/us where we’ve been, what we’ve done.

Because, baby, look at us go. 

The Houses that Built You

I am writing this alone, in the woods, sitting upon the remains of a once warm and active hearth. A forgotten homestead, its walls non-existent, the only nod to days past is the outline of a foundation and the brick fireplace, along with what I am sure are active ghosts.

As I trace my footsteps along the perimeter of what once was, glimpses of what it had been keep rising to my conscious, filtering in with reality. It is here. It is here because someone had the dream and vision for it. It is here because someone took what they had and made it into a physical object. Now, due to circumstances or situations, bones remain where walls once stood, memories have been passed down through generations or maybe they too, have been laid to rest alongside their hosts.

But the courage to build it stays.

This made me think humans in terms of houses. The houses we build, friendships, projects, or own internal awareness, houses built for love, adventure, care, healing. The house we present today, as now, maybe it’s brand new, paint still drying, perfect lighting, shiny appliances. I like this house, am excited for you to walk me through it, giving me the guided tour of all the things learned and seen. Yet, I want to see more. Not the finished basement or the four car garage, I want to see the remnants of the houses that have burned to the ground, the ones you have abandoned in parts of town no one goes. Show me the shaky foundations or the walls you took sledgehammers and the beams that crashed when everything fell apart.

I want to see the charred remains of the houses you have been, the homes you have built for other people. Because the house you are building now? It will all make sense. Why you chose the oak over the cherry, the brass pulls instead of the silver. The fenced in yard versus the open back that butts up to the forest. To know you now means more when I know your past. I want to revel in the houses you can’t wait to show me, that you are so proud of, as well as the ones you left condemned.

I want people in my life who have started over and over again. Rebuilding over and over again what they thought they knew and becoming who they are meant to be.

I want to know a thousand structures of you.