That Time I Published My First Blog post

So, that’s a bit of a lie. I have blogged before. Those times don’t count though.

I have been looking for a creative outlet for awhile now and in my mind I always come back to my first love. Writing. I have always loved writing and still remember some of the stories I wrote in elementary school. One was about a flower in a garden, inspired by the huge garden we had when I was a kid. The other one that really stands out to me was about a young girl who became an orphan because of the Vietnam War. This was inspired by the first book I ever loved as a child, Sadko and the Thousand Paper Cranes. Did you ever read that? Such a great story. At least I thought it was when I was 9 or 10. It was the first book that made me weep. During high school and college I was really into poetry (isn’t everyone?) and started to dabble in nonfiction biographical writing as well. I think this type of writing can be a great outlet. I have never been able to write in a diary or have a journal though. For some reason I always cared too much about what I wrote. Does it sound good? Am I making sense? I always looked at my journaling through the eye of a reader. When you are trying to journal “for yourself” critiquing what you are writing is a recipe for disaster, or more accurately, a nonstarter. So, I was never able to use journaling as an outlet without feeling frustrated with myself for editing my words and for not letting it just flow out nonsensically. That’s how I got here. I may as well write for others to read while also writing “for myself”.

So that’s the why of this blog. Now I should probably back up a bit and explain the who. Who am I? I’m no one really. No one special. Or different than any other random person writing for the internet to read. I was named Emily by my sister and my dad. I’m a (reluctant) 30 year old; in my head I’m still 16 though. I have an 11 year old daughter. She is the greatest invention since sliced bread. Most people like her more than they like me. If math isn’t your strong suit I’ll help you out. I was 18 when I became pregnant and 19 when I had my daughter. We have grown up together these last 11 years. We live in Minneapolis. It’s a great city to call home. I have been a home owner for the last two years. I bought a house that’s a bit of a fixer upper and  I am just now getting around to doing a lot of the fixing upping. I work full-time as a college and career navigator for a program for low-income young parents. I love my job. I feel lucky to get paid to do the work I do. I’m planning to write about all the above things. Along with a bunch of random things that make me happy.

Speaking of happy. My blog name is My Version of Happy. The reason I chose this comes from a very personal place. I have struggled with depression and anxiety for almost my whole life. My first time in a therapist’s chair was when I was 13. I have had many experiences that have contributed to these issues and have struggled with really low self-esteem and too often defining myself by others standards. I’m done with that (mostly). I’m finally in a place in my life where I can genuinely say I’m happy. I still struggle at times, but I’ve come to accept that this is part of my life and I can be happy regardless. Even though my life isn’t perfect. Even though it’s not what I expected. Even though I don’t have everything I want or think I need. I am happy. I am allowed to be happy. My happy is different than others. It’s my version of happy.

-Emily