I was out for a run this morning and jogged past a local park. Once full of mature trees, benches, bridges, and ducks, the park is now under construction.

Fencing and tarps stretch for city blocks and surround the park on all sides. From an overpass on the east end of the park, I could see that every last tree had been removed and the park’s centerpiece water features had been drained. All that remained was a muddy pit.

It was pretty ugly but I realized something while looking at it…

Progress isn’t always pretty.

Change is slow and kind of unappealing — for parks and people alike. Knowing you need change in your life is one thing, but allowing the process of change to take place (and not wanting to just shoot straight to the finish line) is tough. Like screw the cocoon, I’m jumping directly from caterpillar to butterfly overnight. I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning and be a totally different person with zero effort. Try and convince me otherwise.

If you cut out the delusional thinking that change is a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am instant process, everyone can honestly admit that change itself is hard work and takes time.

A long time.

A reeeeeeeeeally long time.

I’m a goddamn shining star. Kinda.

For instance, a couple months into our relationship, my boyfriend and I went to a short film premiere at a local comedy club. We arrived and were invited to squeeze into a booth with a couple of other people whom my BF knew but I had never met.

When my boyfriend stepped aside so I could sit in the middle of the booth, and therefore the middle of the conversation, I replied, “You go first. People are probably more interested in talking to you anyway.”

Afterwards, he asked me why I had said that.

I told him I’m generally not the person people want to talk to when we’re out, and that I frequently get talked over and talked around. (For reference, my boyfriend is a good looking, charming, well-known artist who also happens to be an excellent listener and conversationalist. I mean, right? Who wouldn’t want to talk to the guy?)

“No, people want to talk to you,” he told me.

Now, I should back up and point out that I wrote the short film being premiered.

It was completely bonkers of me to walk into the venue and assume that no one cared who I was, but that’s exactly what I did. I mistakenly believed that I’m invisible and forgettable — blame my awkward years… all 35 of them.

I was so sure I was walking around in my boyfriend’s shadow that I didn’t give myself any credit for being the goddamn shining star that I am.

But my tarps and fencing are still up.

The realization that I’m a walking beam of magnificence came about a year ago, but wanes every ten days or so.

I have moments where I think, “YES! Bring down the tarps and let’s reveal the new, confident, outgoing me. The one who will attend cocktail hours and talk to strangers! I AM NEW AND IMPROVED!”

And others where I think, “I‘d like to talk to that person over there about that thing we have in common but holybabyjesus I can’t because I’m still a wriggling pupa of a woman.”

So, alas, here I still am still in my muddy-pit, gooey bug guts phase. I think I’m doing okay and then something happens to set back my confidence and sense of self-worth and it’s like, oh, so no progress has been made at all after all these months?

More recently, I attended another screening and writer’s QA for the short film I wrote and I sweated for about four hours straight, through multiple shirts, prior to the event. The mere thought of having to talk about myself in public (public being about 12 people) was enough to send my fight-or-flight instinct into overdrive. Apparently, I respond to public displays of attention the same way my ancient predecessors responded to saber tooth cats.

But you know what? That’s okay.

Because I did it. I went and did a hard thing and I survived. I even realized that acting like a goddamn shining star even if I don’t always feel like one won’t kill me. In fact, it’s good for me. I felt better afterwards. I felt big and important — which in perspective, probably actually means that I felt like a human of average self-confidence.

Experiences like mine push us beyond what we assume are our limits and show us that our limits are actually a lot further than we think. They prove that a change to ultimately better ourselves is most certainly something worth accomplishing, sweaty pits and all.

And it’s totally okay if that change is slow and uncomfortable.

What matters is I know I can do this (you can too), I just have to be patient and loving with myself . I’m going to start reminding myself of my value and goals every day.

Say it with me now:

“Self, people out there want to talk to you. And sit with you. And get to know you. And they think you’re one of the coolest people they’ve ever met and they want to learn more about you and be your friend because you’re important and you bring a lot of value to the lives of people around you.

And you have a cute butt.”

When I enrolled in a university BFA writing program in 2015, I had never written a personal essay before.

The bulk of my adult writing consisted of a few bad poems and emails, but for whatever reason, I was drawn to the Creative Nonfiction track in the Writer’s Workshop.

I rightfully assumed that CNF would mainly consist of writing about myself, but what I failed to foresee was the unintended impact CNF would have on my life.

The core of CNF is honesty, and it is everything in the genre. It’s a contract of vulnerability between reader and writer, and it’s what makes stories compelling in a way that is entirely different from fiction.

But as I discovered, it’s hard to write honestly when you’re not living truthfully.

When I started college, I was thirty-two and in a marriage that was not fulfilling me. I was dissatisfied and depressed. When I thought about the future, it made me feel panicked and trapped, and I didn’t know how I was going to survive another fifty years.

Worse though, I didn’t feel like I could express those feelings. Not out loud. At all. To anyone — certainly not to my husband, and definitely not in writing. The person I was inside my head,and the person I was living as, were two entirely different women.

I had convinced myself that I was managing it fairly well, but being asked to commit pieces of my life to paper in writing classes was challenging.

I largely wrote around the matters of my current life, and therefore my truth. I dug into childhood and teenage memories, I wrote about my other family members, I told stories of past boyfriends, I shared my insecurities as a mother — I wrote about anything I could think of except my husband and my marriage.

Everything I was writing was true, but none of it felt particularly honest. And every time, I received the same feedback in my workshops: Where are you in this piece?

I wasn’t present in my writing because I wasn’t present in my life.

While I was busy hiding from myself in CNF, I was unknowingly revealing a whole lot more of myself in screenwriting classes.

Despite not having written anything fictional since elementary school, I thought screenwriting would be a fun and easy way to earn elective credits. And it was. There was a profound and exciting freedom in creating a person out of thin air, and then having them say and do whatever I wanted.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but my characters were saying and doing all of the things I couldn’t.

The protagonist of a pilot I wrote was afraid of being married in her 20s so she dumped her boyfriend when he proposed.

The protagonist in a screenplay got to reset and rediscover her life after a series of mishaps leaves her jobless and homeless.

I didn’t realize it, but I was creating characters — typically women — who were living out all the truths I was hiding from in CNF.

It was so much easier to be honest when it wasn’t real, when I could hide behind a character and say this isn’t how I think and feel, this is how she thinks and feels.

But whether art imitates life or life imitates art, I found that as an artist, I eventually had to reconcile my own dishonesty — and I found myself divorced as a result.

It was the lowest of low points and I still struggle with the effects my actions had on the people I cared about, but upon finally vocalizing the truth about what I needed in my life, I was able to merge the women inside my head with the woman I was living as, and become one whole person again.

Finally living my truth allowed me to write my truth, in both CNF and screenwriting. I no longer had to write big circles around myself in essays to avoid revealing who I really was, and my fictional characters became stronger, bolder, and more outspoken.

I grew as a person, a mother, a partner, and a writer. Plus, I was happier. Naturally. It takes a lot of mental effort to be two different people. I ended up finishing the writing program at thirty-five feeling more like myself than I ever had, but also understanding less about myself than I ever had.

I know I am a writer. I know I have a duty to share my truth, no matter what form that might take. But how did I get to the place I was in? Where does this capacity for silence and secrecy come from?

I’m looking forward to finding out. And writing about it. Honestly.

Somewhere between having a baby in 2010 and finding myself buried under a mountain of obligations in 2018, I stopped taking care of myself. I was exhausted and stressed out, and it was easier to ignore my own needs than give myself the proper care and attention I needed.

Turns out, I’m not alone.

Statistics from the American Psychological Association, presented by the American Institute of Stress (of course we have our own stress institute in America), show that 77% of Americans regularly experience physical symptoms caused by stress.

It’s no wonder that the self-care industry is booming and that “treating yourself” practically became a national pastime in 2018. MarketWatch says the average American spends $199 a month treating themselves to nonessential items as a form of self-care.

It seems that somewhere along the line, spending money and self-care became synonymous. Self-care turned into an expensive sweater, a massage, a new haircut, a fancy dinner out — and it can be those things. But what if you don’t have $80 and an hour to spare?

5 self-care habits that take 10 minutes and cost $0

You can do any combination of these five things in the morning or throughout your day. Double them up, spread them out, repeat them… whatever works for you. Even if you do all five (gasp!) you’re out 50 minutes. That’s 3.47% of your day.

Meditate and be still
I wasn’t a believer in meditation until my boyfriend turned me on to it. I thought it sounded weird and difficult, but it turns out it’s as easy as sitting on the floor in a comfortable spot and doing literally nothing. I downloaded the free Insight Timer app for meditating. It allows you to track your meditations, cheer on your friends and neighbors, and has tons of options for guided meditations.

Write a journal entry
Writing has long been seen as a valuable tool in therapy, healing, creativity, self-discovery, and on and on. You don’t have to have a fancy notebook or journal, but you should write on physical paper, not a keyboard. The idea is to get away from the distraction of a screen — plus holding a pen and writing on paper engages your brain differently than typing does. Don’t know what to write? Google “10-minute writing prompts” and be awed by the results.

Go for a walk or run
There’s a lot of research that your brain works better after exercise. Even something as simple as quick walk around the block can yield a mental reward. Plus, it doesn’t require any special sports equipment and your body was literally designed to do it. Can’t leave your house because you have a sleeping child? (Been there!) My standby “trapped at home” exercise is walking up and down the stairs.

Make a cup of tea
While the tea technically isn’t free, there’s a good chance you already have a tea bag or two in your cupboard and you don’t have to go out of your way to buy it. Studies show that sipping a warm drink can make you friendlier, help you kick a cold a little faster, and generally relax and revive you. Green tea is especially beneficial, although I confess to only liking one kind of tea on this entire planet.

Rock out to your favorite songs
Music is a therapeutic tool that can have magical effects like lowering blood pressure, reducing stress and anxiety, and elevating overall mood. Make a playlist of your favorite songs and listen to two or three. You could even double up and listen to them while you walk/run or sip your tea. Personally, I prefer a full-blown rock out, complete with lip syncing.

I knew I needed a resolution not just to change, but to usher in a new life that could serve me in the long run.

Last week was my first week of living my new, completely normal life.

I worked Monday-Friday from 8:00–5:00.
I came home and cooked dinner.
I wrote a few pages of my screenplay every day.
I went to the gym.
I bought a house plant.
I went on a date with my boyfriend.
I spent quality time with my son.

It’s normal and perhaps a little boring on the surface, but it’s also sustainable and healthy.

In 2015, I returned to college to finish a BFA while also working as a self-employed photographer. A year later I was doing all that plus working part-time as a writer. Six months later, my part-time job became full-time. Plus I got divorced.

By the end of 2018 and my last semester of college, I was a single mother working two jobs and taking 15 credit hours. I also had two screenplays in the hopper with two separate producers, a new promotion at work that I couldn’t keep up with, a boyfriend/relationship I was emotionally neglecting, and an extended family I was avoiding because I didn’t know how to be around people anymore — especially people who cared about me and were worried.

When I would tell friends and coworkers what I was up to all the time and why I couldn’t come to parties, happy hours, girls nights, volunteering events, etc., they would respond with some version of, “Wow. That’s impressive. You’re amazing.”

But I wasn’t amazing. I was burning myself out to the point that I was a miserable, emotional wreck pretty much every day. I was giving all of myself to outside commitments and was left completely empty when it came time to give something back to myself.

As Americans, we tend to glamorize and celebrate people who do this to themselves. We don’t glamorize and celebrate our respect for our bodies and mental health. We don’t give people things like tools to meditate the way we give them tools to study for a test or ace an interview. We’re so busy worrying about intangible things like success, dedication, results and goals and what achieving those things says about us, that we completely sacrifice tangible and irreplaceable things like health, exercise, nutrition and sleep.

I’ve spent two years of my writing career reporting on the lives and successes of entrepreneurs and highly-successful tech professionals. Rarely do any of them ever talk about how self-care and self-respect routines have played a part in their ability to cope with the pressures of their demanding careers. They pretend like they aren’t sacrificing their own well-being for the forward momentum of their professional lives.

I know that’s what they’re doing because up until a month ago, I was doing it too.

I kept telling myself after this one thing is off my plate, then I will fix myself. After I shoot this last wedding. After I finish college. After I check off everything on this to-do list.

My boyfriend (a proponent of self-care, meditation and mindfulness) gently pointed out to me that self-care is not something you pencil in for a future date like a dentist appointment or a dinner with your parents. It is not something you do when you have leftover time — it’s something you make time for. It’s as simple as setting a five-minute timer and sitting quietly until it goes off.

But when life is so far in the shit, when you’re so close to the brink of crashing and burning, even returning five mindful minutes to yourself feels like an impossible task.

I let everything go too far and get out of hand. And yes, I have shot my last wedding, finished college, taken a giant chunk out of my to-do list, and am now starting to take proper care of myself.

I have just lived an entire week in a healthy, mindful state.

I survived.

But I’m an example of how not to do it.