I’ve been wanting to do a post about some of my favorite books for a while, but have always felt like I had other more pressing things to write about. Well, no more of that. I’m finally taking the time to share some of the books that changed my life in the last year.
The books I list below are all various types of nonfiction, ranging from self-help to rape culture. Each one is incredibly different, but all influenced me in very meaningful ways. The reviews include quick synopsis’s about the books, but I’m also sharing how the books impacted me on this current self-love and “own my own shit” journey.
These books motivated me to change for the better, and the impacts they had on me? That’s what I remember more than the actual books themselves.
One of the things that I like about traveling alone is the ample time for self-reflection. With that much alone time, self-realizations come in waves, and my recent trip to Italy made me re-think a few things about myself in relation to extroversion, introversion, and loneliness.
I’m on that “new year, new me” bullshit hard right now, but I’m a little afraid to talk about something. There’s something real big, and kind of scary that’s been on my mind.
It’s funny, because my guess is that it’s only real big to me because it’s scary in a new sort of way, and it’s entirely possible that you will not actually think it’s real big. In fact, you will most likely not think it’s a big deal.
I know I’ve been vulnerable as fuck on Clo Bare, but this is a new level of vulnerability for me.
I just hit the year mark with Clo Bare!
Crazy, right? That went by fast, and it also feels like forever ago when I blindly decided to embark on this journey.
This last year has been a lot of things. It’s been full of rediscovering myself and coming to terms with hard truths in order to get closer to the person that I want to be. It’s been filled with changes, aches and pains, growth, stretching, tears, confusion, uncertainty, and ultimately lots of experimentation.
It hasn’t been easy.
It hasn’t been quick.
It hasn’t been straight forward or prescriptive or standard.
Rejection seems like a timely visitor after how wonderful I’ve been feeling for the last several weeks. I was rejected from a freelance opportunity, one that I thought I’d be the perfect fit for.
At first, it felt the same as it’s felt in the past. My heart kind of dropped, I felt my chest fill with a sort of pressure that feels like things are closing in on me, and I start to wonder why I ever thought I’d be good enough to think someone would actually want my work, let alone pay for it.