I Have to get this on Paper

  Pssst… scrolling again?

Cool, you can keep going. I won’t lose sleep over whether you read this or not.

What I write in my blog? It’s “stuff.” True stuff—but still just words on a screen. I’m not here for likes, hearts, pity, prayers, or emotional hugs from strangers on the internet. I write to get it out. To unpack the mental storage unit full of memories that, let’s be honest, aren't exactly rare online.

Yes, I know—many people have suffered. As kids, as adults. There’s always someone who’s had it worse. I’m fully aware. I know people whose stories make mine look like a Disney short. Doesn’t mean mine doesn’t matter.

You’re welcome to read and say, “boo hoo, little Polly had it rough,” and that’s fine. This isn’t a competition. I don’t need you to validate my experience—this is my story, not a trauma bake-off.

And no, I don’t share everything. You’ll get the rest someday when I finally write that memoir (working title: “Fill in the Blanks and Pass the Beer”). For now, it’s bits and pieces—my catharsis, not your content.

Once, I confided in someone when I was really struggling. Their response? “You should come to work with me if you want to see people who really have it bad.”

Spoiler alert: they completely missed the point.

Here’s what I’ve learned—just because someone’s suffering looks “worse” doesn’t mean yours doesn’t matter. Pain isn’t a contest, and empathy isn’t limited stock.

So, I’m leaving this here.

Hop on, or hit the X.

I’m writing anyway. 🖤