From Feeding My Ego to Nourishing My Soul

TRACING THE PATH OF NUMBING OUT TO WAKING UP

Authors Note

Before I was taught how to write an essay, I was a kid that created freely. Somewhere along the way, I lost that part of myself. A professor I had while stationed in Japan —distant, quiet, but sharp, required that everyone in class journal for 10 minutes without stopping. Those were my favorite 10 minutes of class. No grammar rules. No structure. No critique. Just thoughts flow. I didn’t realize at the time how much I needed that kind of space, that brought me back to my once sacred space as a kid. 

That experience wasn’t just about writing. In a way, without even knowing it at the time, it was the feeling of being seen. A quiet invitation back to a part of myself I’d fallen away from. A reminder of the freedom that lives in unfiltered expression and the importance of exercising it.

I had difficulty sitting down and organizing my thoughts to write a blog post this week. I could sit down to think out loud. The desire was to trace the invisible thread between the self I was and the self I’m becoming. For the first time I was really trying to put this journey into words. That familiar feeling of being without words, reminded me of a means in moving beyond a block of sorts, by writing thoughts without hesitation. Freely as they come.

For years, the most broken version of myself, out of survival, worked so adamantly to stay out of my mind. I abused my body. Breaking my own spirit. I chased pleasure and doses of happiness as a distraction from my unresolved inner turmoil. And now, to be in a place where my mind is a creative sanctuary, my body— a temple that I am learning daily to better tend to, and my soul, a safe space. 

Tracing the path of numbing out to waking up is almost indescribable. Maybe not something to be explained, but experienced. This is me trying to put the journey of disconnection back to connection into words.

Just the truth.

As it came to me that day.

It’s the most honest way I know to begin.

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Journal Entry - 03252025

“When I reflect back on life pre therapy, I did everything in my ability to disconnect from my mind. I abused my body, breaking my spirit. It’s amazing that the most broken version of myself knew the perfect recipe of ingredients to keep itself in that state of existing. No nourishment. Just barely surviving. Living for pleasure and escape. To recognize now the depths in which I hated being with my thoughts. Now stepping into a space that I’m running for a piece of paper to jot down the thought, word, or phrase, so precious, I am fearful that I could lose it. To recognize the depths in which I worked to numb the connection to my body, to sit in a space that dedicates moments of following the sound of my breath. My spirit. my spirit. You have always been there. Ingesting the noise of the world, tiny bites at a time. Out the womb. Knowing how my thoughts flow. Releasing the thought without thoughts of critique. What a box we humans are forced into. From this freedom onto Mr. Schmoll’s class, learning sentence structure. don’t forget about your transitions. A plus. I was born knowing who God was. That audible voice, once louder than Ms. Albright, the mean teacher talking at the front of the classroom. Daydreaming? Learning to now silence the noise, Source is clearer now. This part is a reunion. I’m thankful to no longer put stress on myself, shame myself, shrink myself down out of pressure of conformity to what they know to be true. For them. Jesus' life is an example to live by. My life is teaching me that we have opportunities daily to die of our old selves. This thing is becoming easier, but it is harder. Sometimes lonely. I’m thankful for stepping into this place. That my mind is an opportunity for endless creative expression. Just for the need of getting it out. Like a sneeze. That too, has always been there. Coming into a more healed version of myself has been a reunion with the favorite parts of my childlike self. I see myself with my little ponytails and piece of construction paper and box of crayons kicking my legs back and forth as I sit at my desk, during the playing of Reading Rainbow. Little red overalls on, proudly drawing a picture of a naked man. And a fully naked woman. I got sent to the principal's office that day. 2nd grade. Had no idea that was going to turn into such an ordeal. I was created to express, to create, not to consume to the point of overindulgence. That’s what Julie Glace was doing. A 12 year old girl showing her 9 year old neighbor their first “dirty” magazine. Butterflies in the sky alright. It’s amazing the sensation that comes over the human body to alert something is wrong. Off. Just not right.  The perversion attacks that came along the way. Some blatant. Some so unsuspecting. Those betrayals became spores, deeply rooting into self hate, sprouting into shame. Those memories. Even the thought. I called on Spirits. Good old loyal friend. A martini. Double. Dry Straight up. Dirty. Extra Olives. Now those memories are pages within those chapters. Resilience. I sit in gratitude. In spirit. Following my breath.

Journaling since childhood. By means of the limited number of words that I knew. To write my thoughts. To draw or color my thoughts is and has always been a defining marker of my makeup. To have been in a place where I actively numbed to be away from the space where creativity rests. What a life. I have not arrived. In collecting my thoughts, I’m recognizing even beyond this space of where my feet stand, the broadening of other ways I can deepen the connection to my mind, body, and spirit. It is the unveiling of tools for the quest. No destination. Just present moments, each day living a better version than how I existed the day before. The mind, body, and spirit. From disconnection to connection. It’s been a hell of a journey to get back to the parts of myself that existed in love. To be. To create. To be fully present with you is to live in gratitude.”

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Try Your Own Creative Writing Exercise

This post began with a simple 10-minute freewriting session. No rules, no editing, just honesty. If something in you is stirring, give yourself the same space. Set a timer. Let your thoughts spill out. Maybe you’re processing something. Maybe you just need quiet. Either way, the page can hold it.

Start with this question, if it helps:

Where in my life am I choosing numbness over presence?