fabiochiu/medium-articles huggingface dataset:
a stalled affair
By: M A Ý A
Tags: Hope, Disappointment, Cars, Sad, Childhood

Sitting in my mother’s overheated Camry as streetcars loudly drove by was one of the saddest visions of my childhood. My mother promised my sister and I for weeks that’d she take us to Universal Studios if we behaved well. For two kids wildly bored in the house, this was like Jehovah proclaiming a new kingdom was to come. We quickly began to wash clothes, clean dishes, mop and sweep the floors and even dust my mother’s Christmas trinkets. My mother was amazed at our ability to become pint-sized maids waiting for her beck and call, and so, she told us we’d be leaving the following morning. I looked at my sister and she looked back at me in amazement. Regular kids would’ve been jumping up and down but we were simply astonished at the chance. We had been to local fairs and church sponsored fun but nothing to this degree. Universal Studios was a bonafide amusement park. People from varying counties, states and countries flooded Orlando for the fun and us local kids wanted in on the experience. I planned to wear my loosest pants and coolest graphic tee in hopes of being stylishly comfortable. We woke up early, had a nice breakfast from Burger King and we began our quest to the billion-dollar establishment. My mother had forgotten to get gas so we stopped and she filled the tank and all. I was so taken by my excitement that I didn’t realize that the car wasn’t starting. The key was inserted again and again and there was nothing but failed attempts as my mom impatiently tried. She became exhausted and sadly took a silent break until she got out of the car.

She put the hood up and there was smoke fuming from the engine.

Noticing the abnormality of the event, my sister and I left the car. The three of us stood nearby as onlookers passed wondering what happened to this small, black family — and their car. Nothing was said for several minutes. Disappointment filled our minds as sweat dripped from our brows to the seething floor. The beaming effect of the sun and our detoured day left us defeated but poverty and mishaps do harden the mind. It would be several weeks until my mother would try again and, lo and behold, we made it there and back safe.

The sore feet we once experienced from walking home was swapped for laughable memories on crazy, convoluted rides. I had never seen a place so diverse, entertainment-filled and expensive. It was a pleasure to have something to brag to my friends about. In retrospect, that moment of unexpected sadness was simply a challenge to test the resilience and fortitude of our family. We were unhappy and could’ve resigned to that mood. We instead gathered ourselves, drank the bitterness of our circumstances and exercised our sadness through pure, heart-racing fun.
Snow Days Are a Memory of the Past
By: Zach Goreczny
Tags: Snow, Working From Home, Class, Childhood, Telecommunication

I love the snow! When the news reports began to show 1–3 inches of snow, my inner child began to surface, and the memories of snow forts and snowball battles became vivid again. I began to recall the hot peppermint cocoa and warm blankets as I sat near the heater. The most powerful trigger of these memories was a simple text from my local news channel.

“Fox Chapel Area School District — Closed Thursday — Online Instruction Day”

Ahh, and the classic “school is closed” text… wait. Online Instruction? I read that again to be sure. I went downstairs and showed my mother who is a librarian at a local catholic school. Yep. Online Instruction Day.

How could schools commit such a crime? Taking advantage of the pandemic and using their virtual systems to force millions of students to stay indoors with a world of white just steps away, a disappointment indeed.

Just years ago, I can recall that (almost) same text being received, me sleeping in for a little, and spending my weekday seeing friends in the digital world rather than classmates. The day was so simple. I would brew a fresh pot of coffee and load into the world of Los Santos or a futuristic battlefield.

The pandemic has allowed schools to create a system of online learning that is an acceptable alternative to learning in person. While I applaud them for successfully integrating this, I still sympathize with the students. That snow day was more than just a day off; it was a mental break from the same weekly schedule of wake, learn, repeat.

This crime had a profound impact on adults as well. Many could use unfavorable road conditions and fears of an accident as excuses to miss work. Now, it’s challenging to seem believable when you tell your supervisor about the terrible traffic on the route to your desk.

The digital work experience that 2020 has created is great for convenience, but that added benefit of simply logging on comes at the cost of us having certain freedoms such as snow days taken from us.

To the millions who still work in person, I relate to you. Working at Target would be quite tricky in person, so we’re still required to clock in. And while the drive there may be an adrenaline-pumping experience, once at work, we have a pretty relaxed day of cleaning and assisting only those brave enough to venture out for that excellent TV deal that ends today.

In all seriousness, it’s great that our modern culture can telecommute so effectively now in the event of poor weather or, god forbid, another public crisis.

Stay safe and don’t be afraid to become six years old again for a brief period, it’s something we all could do once in a while.
What are some truths about life nobody tells you?😥😓
By: Mitul Dey
Tags: Tell, Truth, You, Childhood, Nobody

Think Positive.....everything will come to you.
Can one carry or hug a baby too much so that it spoils her/him?
By: Lucia Quek
Tags: Baby, Childhood, Grandma, Family, Mothers

Can one carry or hug a baby too much so that it spoils her/him? Is that a myth or fact? I prefer going with myth, and as adjucated by experts, paedetricians and child development doctors, carrying and hugging a baby does not spoil it. Infact, carrying a crying baby will soothe and comfort the baby, and make the baby feel safe and loved. This will create a loving atmosphere and both mother and baby can bond even closer. In my case grandma and grandchild. Infact, I always carried my children when tbey were babies and looking at them now, I don’t think they grew up to be spoiled brats! I hear some new parents advocating not carrying their young babies when they cry and that disturbs me greatly, as they feel it will spoil the child. Babies cry for a reason. Perhaps they are hungry, have colic, a tummy ache, or even feel lonely. I say that leaving them crying will instead hurt them, mentally and emotionally. I have read some experts saying tbat these crying babies or children left to cry and scream in their own cots or rooms, become emotionally insecure and may be psychological scarred when they grow up. So just carry the baby, hug your baby and love your baby for as long as you can. Your physical presence and attention will make a huge difference. Babies grow up so fast and before you know it, they won’t want you to carry them anymore but they would remember that you were there for them, you loved and comforted them. So they will carry this with them when they are grown and come back to you. Forget the naysayers and do what you think is best for your baby. Love them, carry them, hug them for hold them close to you. These moments will be the ones you cherish the most when they grow up.
Aging Memories
By: Mark Farrar
Tags: Japanese Poetry, Haiku, Memories, Childhood, Poetry

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Seven Point Four Inches
By: Chloe Hill
Tags: Blue Insights, Nostalgia, Reminiscence, Childhood, Poetry

Seven Point Four Inches

Photo by lauren lulu taylor on Unsplash

I stare into those doe like eyes,

Sparkling with an innocence

That just can’t be described.

Standing there in the same old house,

Before the walls of terror

Came crashing down.

My mind’s a pure slate of white,

Ready to be moulded right.

Malleable dough and unfeigned giggles,

Every parent’s dream,

The perfect little.

rewind.

pause, zoom, rewind

play.

VCR tapes sprawled across the floor,

Handwritten dates stamped, faded jet black ink.

My youth trapped away in seven point four inches

Cheap tacky plastic — holds the key to my happiness.

Rapid advances in technology make compatibility

A liability, once a norm now

Something so very astray.

pause.

play.

The world moves on and there you stay,

Five year old you dancing to barney on a

Clear summer’s day.

Static hues and lilac glitches,

Washed out cues drowning in passion.

Everything I could have been,

Everything I should have been

Reminders of the possibilities tucked away in

Seven point four inches.

So, what do you say?

Chloe Hill, 2020
A Walk With My Dad
By: Subashini Nachimuthu
Tags: Memories, Poetry Sunday, Life, Childhood, Poetry

A Walk With My Dad

Photo by Sabine van Straaten on Unsplash

After that evening summer shower

Sailing clouds dripping away

The yellow sun lighting up the sky

We made our way into the park

Your long fingers holding mine

Confiding your love all in me

My little steps leaping for yours

The dark stones drenched in rain

Gleaming out to show its shine

You lead me through the narrow path

Striding on those fallen leaves

Sudden puddles surprising me

Your iron arms there lifting me across

Gleefully swinging me up in the air

Shrieking loudly frightening the birds

Your hug plunging me into your heart

Arms armouring against all my fears

Breathing the truth of your words that day

Confidence born out of the faith

On a loving heart is indeed a gift

As you walk with hopes ever in life!
Post childhood
By: Sigrid Tiera
Tags: Trauma, Recovery, Poem, Childhood, Poetry

I thought the trunk of me might split,

or leaves might sprout.

Starve and wither,

or uphold the world in a green coat.

Persistent I believed,

from decay I could rise again.

And all my scars,

Would disappear.

Instead, I mourn.

A tree cannot be sapling twice.
5 days till Christmas
By: Lennie Varvarides
Tags: Christmas, Poets On Medium, Childhood, Gratitude, Poetry

There is a muddy pool of water

that will not move,

it sits outside the window

waiting for the broom.

It is watched by our daughter

penny in her hand,

waiting for a wish

“Make it something good ”

from curtains, I whisper.

-

The black bird spies

Something good to eat.

Today there is a choice

between the berry

and the worm.

Today the black bird

knows abundance.

-

Christmas is five days away

the house is full of waiting.

The Tree is up and it is steady

dressed in toys of hope.

Presents will be wrapped

just before the eve.

This is preparation

organised with ease.

-

Shall we wear our festives

while drinking cheap champagne?

Spray the house in cinnamon?

Leave the heating on?

Shall we light one candle,

or all the candles we possess?

Will the house be warm this Christmas?

-

Five days have past.

Feet thunder down the stairs.

Eyes are open but full of sleep

as they drop to the floor

hands stretched out,

“Which are mine?”

Have we bought too many

or too few?

-

The house is covered in new,

the waste is put to one side.

The elf no longer needs to hide.

The online shopping stops

…only for a while…

We now spend the day

watching childhood memories made.

Hoping to correct

or reinvent

or reproduce

something

that we’ve known,

or haven’t known before.
It Hurts don’t it
By: Brandi Lockwood
Tags: Trauma, Introspection, Empowerment, Grieving, Childhood

I started to type and then I deleted it. I started again and then I deleted half of that, because while I have a million thoughts, memories, experiences rotating through my mind, I was having trouble trying to describe my thoughts in letters compiled into words without exposing the undercurrents of trauma that directed those scenes. I sometimes wonder who I would be without my own resume of traumatic experiences. We all have one, so I wonder would I be a better or a worse person. Would I care for people the way I do, or would I be more selfish, self-centered. Did any of the bad stuff make me into my version of a good person eventually? I mean good vs bad whatever that really means, is in the eye of the beholder and trauma is the interpreter. If I wanted to share my perspective or my feelings on something, I had to accept that to tell that story, I had to be willing to share some of my trauma, to expose some of my weaknesses and where I’m from, weakness made you prey or the subject of humiliation. Weakness is not an option.

“It hurts don’t it?” It was 10 days after my 16th birthday and my grandmother, my fathers’ mother, had died. It was said as more of a statement than a question, but those words were the only words of comfort offered to me that day. They came from my mother’ mother. No one asked me how I actually felt, no one talked to me about death, or the process of grieving. I cried alone because that is where you cried, in solitude. I was expected to understand what was happening, accept it and move on, at 16 years old. It did hurt, it was supposed to hurt, I knew that much. I wasn’t upset about the acknowledgement of the pain, I was shocked someone noticed me at all in the chaos of death. I was hoping someone would help me cope, but my family didn’t have those tools. I had to figure out how to do that on my own. I was the only owner of my emotions, and there was no one to share them with, because I was told to be strong. Weakness was not an option. Women in my family were not allowed to be weak; there was no time for tears. Pray, wipe your tears, and move on. In that order.

Somehow, years later, I realize the trauma of that. I also found empowerment in it. Because I am the sole owner of my emotions. They are mine, I have every right to use them, expose them, and express them how I see fit. I’ve learned I get to decide when I’m over it and when I’ve shed enough tears, even if I do it while I’m completely alone. I don’t have to apologize for feeling, because the alternative is to be empty, just a vessel. I have enough strength to cry and move on all at the same time. Weakness is still not an option. Even if the waves of trauma created this strength, it all still hurts sometimes.
The Monster
By: Tas Blogs
Tags: Monsters, Schools, Anxiety, Fiction, Childhood

The Monster

The voices echoed relentlessly hammering one after the other in time with the beating of my racing heart. Sweat poured down my neck and my palms grew clammy. I gulped, praying my lungs would expand to let in more oxygen or I swore I would drop dead in a faint. My hands were trembling as I squished and twisted my thumb cards attempting to release some of my nerves . I waited for my name to be called with the air of a person waiting to be shot.

Speaking infront of my class always induced the feelings of a burgeoning panic attack . I would stand up stumble my way to the front before mumbling my speech at lightning speed before the tears I was holding back began to fall. I barely waited for the feedback from the teacher to end before racing back and sinking into my seat in the corner. Gulping down water that was sloshing around in the bottle . I willed my heart to slow down and hands to stop shaking because I knew there was no reason for me to be feeling so petrified.

“It wasn’t that bad” my teacher commented looking at me through her broad lenses . Unknown to her, those words crushed me. It confirmed the belief that I was being ridiculous in my panic.

I knodded quietly keeping my gaze low. She wouldn’t understand just how much courage I had to forage for just to not cry infront of the girls I had known for five years.

I was a child when I realized that monsters didn’t live under the bed but rather they made their homes inside the heads of scared children .

The monster in my head had its claws sunken into the soft flesh of my heart and would squeeze warningly if I had to talk to a person I was not familiar with or groups bigger than two even if I was familiar with them.

There were days when I did try speak up in my group of classmates . The monster would still linger prowling in the back of my mind waiting to pounce . Whispering doubts and lies that spread and were internalized when my friends would look up and ask me if I had spoken and I would shake my head in a negative response. The monster won on those days.

It caused me to fade into a bystander in my own life watching as people forgot my existence due to my quietness. It hurt more than I liked to admit but then the hurt faded into resignation .

I still tried everyday to speak up. Pushing out the words despite inwardly wincing at my awkwardness. Eventually I did makr friends who were willing to be quiet with me and listen as I stuttered and stumbled my way through my story knodding and smiling encouragingly .

I hope one day that the monster would eventually fade into nothing but untill then I was willing to try everyday to not let it win.
"I don' t think anyone expects him to be the 'dad' they never had in childhood."
By: Nanda Jurela
Tags: Father Wound, Stockholm Syndrome, Childhood, Identification, Unmet Need

"I don' t think anyone expects him to be the 'dad' they never had in childhood."

The subconscious can be very murky.. It certainly is pre-verbal.

I have noticed that this is the shared expectation of DT's worshippers. (There are other red threads and similarities between them; but this one is the one that they all have in common, whether American or international.) They project onto him the father they did not have, the father who will save the day, the father who will keep them safe, the father who will punish bullies.

They also "like" his personality, just as victims of kidnapping eventually identify with their captors, feel the captors’ feelings, develop some kind of kinship that is one-sided, yet provides a sense of safety that is situational and not exactly easy to relate to, from the outside or from an objective perspective.

There were some voters who voted for DT for his economic plan or because they hated Hillary R. Clinton, or were tired of the Democrats.

However, once you scratch deeper, there is some father wound in many of this group too.
First Things First
By: Dawn Joys
Tags: Adulthood, Relationships, Life, Childhood, Poetry

FIRST THINGS FIRST

Said the infant: Ask me to change if you must, but make me feel safe first.

Said the toddler: Ask me to change if you must, but love me first.

Said the kindergartener: Ask me to change if you must, but play with me first.

Said the primary student: Ask me to change if you must, but see me first.

Said the junior higher: Ask me to change if you must, but care about me first.

Said the high schooler: Ask me to change if you must, but listen to me first.

Said the college student: Ask me to change if you must, but respect me first.

Said the newly married: Ask me to change if you must, but hold me first.

Said the new parent: Ask me to change if you must, but affirm me first.

Said the parent of adults: Ask me to change if you must, but honor me first.

Said the new grandparent: Ask me to change if you must, but hear me out first.

Said the aging senior: Ask me to change if you must, but spend time with me first.

Said the nursing home resident: Ask me to change if you must, but value me first.

Said the dying person: Ask me to change if you must, but make me feel safe first.
In the landscape of memories
By: Poornima Sardana
Tags: Home, Nostalgia, Memories, Childhood, Pakistani Drama

In the landscape of memories

In my landscape of memories there is a blurring of boundaries. It is a topography as no other, for it is hard to tell where the river ends and grows into a mountain, or when the soil changes into a galaxy of stars. It is endless, it is continuous, it is an ocean, it is a forest.

In this space, are people, some real, some real-like. Very often you would meet a person as they were and also the same person, but as I had imagined them to be, or what I had wished for, both walking hand in hand, inseparable. A boy who once told me that he is fond of me, and him as a man, standing under the night sky, watching shooting stars and snow, thinking of me. I wasn’t there, but in my memories is this image of his that took birth over a long phone call, on a rainy night. I remember the fragrance of wet soil, it is the fragrance of his memory.

In this space reside friends and laughter, kindness and fear, anger and affection, caresses and pain. In this space are found dogs with wet noses, cows with gentle eyes, langurs with mannerisms and donkeys that once roamed the streets close to home.

In this space are relationships that are only mine. Also those that are shared. The childhood in the hills was not Ruskin Bond’s alone, I too have had “friends in strange places”; the contours on a wrinkled face described in a poem, are memories that my fingers can vouch for; the mourners in a painting by P.N. Mago, I heard them cry, I saw the Partition, I know the loss, I wasn’t there, but I was. Some borrowed memories, imagined memories, they are also mine.

And in this space resides Zoya, my daughter, yet to be a part of my lived experience, she already is a part of my memories. All that I have imagined her to be co-exists with Zoya, a character from Dhoop Kinarey, Pakistani Drama. And they both walk together on a path where the past and the future meet, in the realm of memories. I have watched Zoya on screen through a video cassette, a CD and eventually online. Her childlike mannerisms yet her intrinsic wisdom exist as memories of a cherished friend. Her love for children is a memory that seems to be mine, her relationship with her father, baba resonates with mine. When I go deeper into this landscape, this deep sea, her baba is as much a part of my childhood as any member of family. So when I lived far away, in another land, and the winters froze all warmth, I was able to relive my childhood, through Dhoop Kinarey. Finding home in familiarity and tea. In my memories is home, home is a memory, memories are home.

I’ll choose an abrupt pause…
Six of Cups: Childhood Nostalgia
By: Tarot Stories
Tags: Nostalgia, Childhood Memories, Tarot, Childhood, Tarot Reading

It’s Friday and I am off! I’ve got two more working days left in the year, and with the sun shining brightly into my home, I feel a teensy bit lighter and dare I say happier. It’s like when the sun breaks through the clouds on a grey day and you know it’s going to be short-lived but can’t stop yourself from allowing yourself to stress a little less and be a bit happier.

I often wonder how much of my mental state is just me being a drama queen. But then I remember that this emotion is different from when I was a teenager and angsty. The anxiety, stress and mental toll is hard to control and the act of even trying to control it makes you sink deeper and feel exhausted. So no — I’m not being a drama queen, and I’d give anything to be able to shut my brain off and embrace ignorant bliss.

Six of Cups from the Rider-Waite Tarot Deck

What you see: A little boy hands a flowering cup to a little girl. Behind him is another flowering cup and in the foreground four more. The children appear to be on a village street with houses and a man walking away behind them.

What it means: The young children represent happy childhood memories; the white flowers in the cups are innocent bliss. The backdrop of their village signifies the comfort, safety and familiarity of home.

The story: The Six of Cups represents pleasant memories from childhood; revisiting the past or reacquainting with childhood friends.

Reversed: Reversed, the card represents being stuck in the past and unable to move forward; losing touch with the present.

Reflection: Nostalgia can be a beautiful thing; retreating into your past occasionally to feel comfort or safety when the present time is hard. However, there is a danger in staying too long in the past — it makes the present feel more depressing, or you forget you are remembering only the bright parts and through rose-coloured glasses.
Linking BDSM to childhood trauma
By: Yuri Zavorotny
Tags: Patriarchy, Trauma, Sex, BDSM, Childhood

But what if it is, after all?

I would be surprised if BDSM didn’t provide substantial relief of the existential dread, chronic anxiety, depression, and the rest of the so-called “human condition”. <== the latter, however, is 100% the result of the mandatory set of traumas, grace of the “civilization” to every human child (till they stop trying):

And that’s the standard-issue crap… Individually tailored goes on top.

§ ”I think Mom’s troubles got him interested in Jim and me — he started worrying about us: You’re teenagers! Is there anything you want to talk about? This sex urge — you’ve got to be aware of it, you can’t just way he talks. Mom says ‘psychology’ has made some inroads in Dad — but not much! But she’s more like him than she realizes! She’s very smart about psychology. Unlike him, she’s being coached! She’d talk my ear off about sex if I let her.”

“You don’t let her?” I asked. “I don’t. I don’t, because that’s not the big point for me. What is? It’s this life — what does it mean? That’s what I keep asking myself, that’s what I’d like to be finding out, figuring out. I ask my mother about that and she gets this far-off look.

§ Over and over I’m told that a child is terribly ‘difficult,’ extremely “rebellious.’ I ask for details and as I listen I begin to understand the parents’ sense of what is going on, but I have to admit to them that I hear something else, commonly — I hear a demanding conscience at work [in the adolescent], with the rebelliousness a reaction to it. This can come as a surprise to the parents — who have been pronouncing their own children virtually lawless, without moral standards, at the mercy of their every whim and fancy!

§ I tell of the loneliness many young people feel…It’s a loneliness that has to do with a self-imposed judgment of sorts…I remember…a young man of fifteen who engaged in light banter, only to shut down, shake his head, refuse to talk at all when his own life and troubles became the subject at hand. He had stopped going to school…he sat in his room for hours listening to rock music, the door closed…I asked him about his head-shaking behavior: I wondered whom he was thereby addressing. He replied: “No one.”

I hesitated, gulped a bit as I took a chance: “Not yourself?” He looked right at me now in a sustained stare, for the first time. “Why do you say that?” [he asked]…I decided not to answer the question in the manner that I was trained…Instead, with some unease…I heard myself saying this: “I’ve been there; I remember being there — remember when I felt I couldn’t say a word to anyone”…The young man kept staring at me, didn’t speak…When he took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes, I realized they had begun to fill…
Tentang Memaknai Kata Dewasa. Gapapa,
By: Putri Atsira
Tags: Growing Up, Family, Storytelling, Love, Childhood

Walking paradox on progress. 21 years old medical student who have deep passion in writing (and prolly research).
This account of childhood abandonment is compelling with details of a maternal relationship, as…
By: Dechen Karl Thurman
Tags: Show Business, Sicilian, New York City, Grandmother, Childhood

This account of childhood abandonment is compelling with details of a maternal relationship, as well as a Sicilian family’s instinct to protect and nurture. This writer has a talent to be intimate with the reader, which is a magnetic quality.
I’m here to tell you, I’m sorry.
By: Edie Grace
Tags: Connection, Kindness, Forgiveness, Healing From Trauma, Childhood

Photo by Marco Bianchetti on Unsplash

My dearest,

For many years I have overlooked you and your pain. I have blamed you for everything. How could do such a thing? Why would you say that? You were so irresponsible. It’s because of you that I am suffering.

I’ve have been watching you from afar. Any mistake you made no matter the size, I turned my back on you while shaking my head in embarrassment and shame. I know it’s hard to hear. When I realized my actions were causing you pain, I too, wished for silence. Now that my ignorance has washed out to sea, I am left standing here stripped of all judgment and ready to meet.

Many years have passed and while I sit here gritting my teeth, muscles twitching and mind racing through all the track meets of trauma -always winning first place- I think of you.

I don’t grit my teeth because I’m ashamed of you anymore, it’s to hold back the tsunami from drowning me again because goddammit, I’ve finally come up to breathe. My muscles are twitching because I crave to embrace you and I want so desperately to tell you how proud I am of you.

You were left alone to survive, hunting for crumbs that would feed your desire for love and in return your bones played peek-a-boo with that which was holding you together. You hopped from one abuser to the next differentiating them by type of abuse, filing them away in cabinets, and labeling them from one to ten as if you were explaining your level of pain. And you were.

My heart aches for you and I can finally feel my fury raging inside. I lost fury a long time ago when sorrow took control. I couldn’t remember how to protect you and I lost my self in the mix. Things have changed, fury wants to come out and play again.

There is more to say and I understand if you need time. But after all these years, all that really needs to be said is — I am truly, undeniably sorry. I was blindly following in the footsteps of those that were dragging me along by a thread of guilt, and in the process I abandoned you when you needed me the most. I am so sorry.

When you are ready, I am here. It’s safe now and I’ve put on my armor to hold your hand and make sure they can’t hurt you anymore.

I love you, forever and always.

Truly yours,

Edie Grace
Growing up with drug addict parent’s and how it change my view on the world forever.
By: Bobbie Leiman
Tags: Drugs, Childhood, Teens, Childhood Trauma

13 years ago on march 28 i was born into a family. Not a “ Normal” family a society has made out to be. No i was born into a family of drug addict’s. My mother Kristen lowry was and still is a drug addict but a couple years ago i had lost contact with her. My father who was an addict but now has 1 year clean has taken up the job to be a single parent to me, my brother , and my sister.

Growing up I didn’t know that my parent’s where doing drugs. My birth- mother was never really there. My grandma was basically me and my siblings mother figure while my mother locked her self into our garage and snorted crack or did heroin.

Looking back my childhood was shit. when i was five my mother on Christmas morning made our breakfast and left with my older sister and never came back. I didn’t really remember how i felt but i member looking at my dad and jut seeing how sad he was.

The next following year my dad had lost me and my younger siblings to child Protective Services. we where there for a year. It was horrible. One day i was living with my with my dad and the next i was with a complete stranger with my younger siblings.

But I’m so grateful i had live the live the life that i was given. Because now i can understand other people with parents who do drugs.I can connect with people on a whole new level.

Thanks for reading more stuff coming soon.
My statement of intent
By: Under The Greenwood Tree
Tags: New Years Resolutions, Motivation, Reflections, Self Improvement, New Year

I wrote the passage that will follow a few years ago. I didn’t date it, but I am amazed at how timeless it is. Recently I was asked if I lived by all that I write and the answer is I do my very best. I am not ashamed to say that on some days I fail miserably because I am proud to say that those days teach me.

So here it goes. My statement of intent:

“I would like to live a simple life. A life where time and quality is applied to the necessities in life. I want to concentrate on loving, healing and learning. I will find meaning in the everyday. In the simple pleasures and the small accomplishments brought by a task fulfilled. I know that I can accomplish great things . I know that I am more than the confines that I limit myself to. I know that I am the only one able to release my potential and turn it into reality, into accomplishments.

I also and above all know that I am not defined by these accomplishments. I am defined as a person by the way I act towards others and towards myself.

To act with love, kindness and compassion.

I chose to live with integrity and genuine intention. Whether I do this while washing dishes, or running Amazon or a whole country does not matter.

I will govern over myself first of all and above all. I will remind myself of the truth until it is permanently part of my being.

I will keep dreaming of the amazing things I will do but I will not attach meaning or value to them. Rather I will be grateful for my lot. I will not ask for more or less.

I have faith that what I encounter is neutral and I have the power to alter outcomes through perception, vision and strategic action.”

What is your statement of intent? What kind of person do you aim to be?

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There Is Absolutely Nothing Wrong With …
By: Aldric Chen
Tags: Life Lessons, Reflections, Self Improvement, Thinking, Self-awareness

There Is Absolutely Nothing Wrong With …

Photo by Bart LaRue on Unsplash

Yes, that is right. I write this out of empathy. I know how this feels. When the World around you think that something is wrong with you … it is weird to be happy.

I have been told that something is wrong with me.

You might say, well, that is only one facet in life. Move on.

Yes, of course.

However.

If everyone in the family starts picking on a different part of you, your entire existence and self-worth are besieged.

And I want to tell you this. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU. And I mean it.

Maybe you have been working really hard for yourself and your business. You could believe that is the way you want your life to be.

I guarantee you that everyone around uncomfortable being around you. That is because you have a sense of direction and a brilliant work ethic.

You are hammering away on your keyboard, crafting digital marketing campaigns while the entire family is drowned in alcohol and turkey feast.

Maybe everyone is trying to tell you to spend more time at home. Maybe you need to attend to the house and start bingeing on Netflix to build bonds.

My question is simple. Do you want to do these from the bottom of your heart?

THERE IS NOTHING WITH YOU if you say NO. If you think they are a waste of time, they are.

Everyone values time differently. We determine the value of time in our unique way.

There is nothing wrong with being unique.

Embrace and love it.

Love Yourself.

Aldric
Noticing The Little Things of 2020
By: Michael Schwartz
Tags: Quarantine, Reflections, Attention, Trees, Brooklyn

What are the little things you’ve noticed this year?



Perhaps by spending so much time at home, with the same people, walking the same streets gasping for early evening air, you’ve come to look differently at some small things in your life.



When I look back at 2020, I’ll remember nights of uncertainty, loneliness and claustrophobia, but I won’t pay them much mind. I’ll remember city wide cheers at 7 pm. Writing letters to swing state voters. Digital Dance Parties, Cinema Club, and elaborate home-cooked meals. I’ll remember the teachers and parents, health care professionals and essential workers, each of whom inspired me with reverence and awe.



And I’ll remember these two trees. I don’t even know their species, but from our rooftop, they look to be the tallest two trees in Brooklyn. They loom large over our deck like ancient guardians, protecting our tree house, our secret escape. I’ve photographed them every day this year, watching their leaves die and flowers bloom. I’ve witnessed them stand tall as storms billowed through their trunks. I’ve closed my eyes and listened to their branches rustling in the wind. They stirred my heart and gave me comfort. They even inspired a new ending for my book, one that feels truer and colored with hope.



The tree on the left keeps its leaves longer. It doesn’t sway as much. It’s heartier, more lush. The tree on the right houses a small plastic bag. I’ve watched this sad sack toss and stretch, balloon and swell. It’s shredded now, flapping in the wind like some war torn flag from an enemy that won’t surrender. For most of the year I hated this damn plastic bag. Now I can’t imagine the tree standing tall without it.



In a few months, we’ll move. I’ll miss the rustle and the shade, the dead leaves and plastic bag. The comfort now is knowing so many new trees await, anxious for my attention, ready to be seen.
What’s in a Word
By: Brad Creech
Tags: Creative Writing, Reflections, Inspiration, Writing, Poetry

A word. What’s in a word? It’s just a simple communicative tool. No more than a combination of symbols on a page. Language, that’s all it is.

A song. What’s in a song? It’s really nothing at all. Just a combination of notes, a rhythm, and a melody. It’s nothing more than sound waves reverberating through the atmosphere for some set amount of time. Music, that’s all it is.

A dance. What’s in a dance? Nothing of meaning. It’s just a series of movements in various directions. Nothing more than muscles and joints working together to move the body in random ways. Movement, that’s all it is.

But wait. These things didn’t just appear. They came from somewhere. The words? Someone wrote them. The song? Someone composed it. The dance? There was a choreographer. So where did these things come from?

A person. They came from a person, which begs another question. What’s in a person?

A heart. A heart which came to life by the very breath of God. A heart upon which His image is inscribed. A heart with an identity of its very own. A heart which moved a person to expression.

What’s in a word? A song? A dance? It’s deeper than symbols, notes, or movements. It is a living, beating, beautiful heart.
How we drifted away from mother tongue?
Tags: Life Lessons, Reflections, Personal Essay, Life, Personal

In the beginning of every year, my love for my mother tongue goes a little overboard and I pledge to add more Malayalam books to my daily reading. This "love" usually settles to the normal level by the end of the first quarter of the year. Since we are almost at the end of this year, I am feeling a pang of guilt for not reading enough Malayalam books this year too. It got me wondering about the real reason to never achieve this personal goal.

Do I think that in a world of "keeping score" of our reading goals, reading a book in a lesser known language is not really worth it? Or is it just a matter of not finding the right books? Or have I completely lost in touch with the language that first helped me to fall in love with reading? These were the questions that first popped up in my mind.

I studied in a school where the medium of instruction was my mother tongue. So naturally I was comfortable reading Malayalam more than English. Until I moved to college, I have had access to plenty of Malayalam books. In college, this was not the case. Almost everyone read books in English. So I borrowed books and got introduced with all the popular fiction in English - J. K. Rowling, Chetan Bhagat, Dan Brown, Robin Cook, Paulo Coelho, Danielle Steel etc. In the following years, I slowly drifted away from Malayalam as I was fascinated by the incomparable vastness of English Literature. Availability of Malayalam books was a major factor in this.

Once I started earning, a major chunk of salary is always spent in books. By that time, English had my complete devotion. It helped me to connect with different cultures. An English translation of a book is easily available and highly marketed unlike the translations available in local languages.

In the past few years, whenever I picked up some Malayalam books, I ended up disappointment and sometimes I left books in half way. Last year, a dear friend helped me pick up some books and that kept the disappointment to a minimum. I was able to finish all the books he recommended except for one. That's still a high point compared to the previous years. So finding the right books that keep me interested is also one reason.

I have to admit that it is not easy getting into reading Malayalam with the same flow I used to have. It takes more effort as English has become the medium for professional and personal communication.

In my heart of hearts I know that all these are just excuses and I need to really put this as a priority. There are still people in my life who are avid readers of Malayalam literature and I only have to get some recommendation from them to achieve my annual goals. I hope I will do better in 2021.

I couldn’t help sharing this painful quote about losing the mother tongue
A simple guide to reflecting upon 2020
By: Adriana Weinlichová
Tags: Personal Growth, Self-awareness, Personal Development, Reflections

2020, a year to remember. A lot of people around the world are waiting to raise their glasses, hopeful and ready to leave the old behind. However, before it comes to that, let me ask you — do you know what you are leaving behind?

I started my first journal when I was around 14 years old. It started as a place to write down my experiences that I didn’t want to forget, but then it became rather an outlet for my very confusing feelings, thoughts, and emotions. Today, I swear by regular journaling and self-reflection — and the self-awareness that results from it. Over the years, I have learned that self-awareness is a never-ending process of the inner and outer journey. Reflection, and re-invention. A sure way to keep moving forward.

Especially after an eventful year such as 2020, I found myself feeling overwhelmed with learnings, question marks, and confusion. One day, I blocked out a few hours, made a lot of tea, and grabbed a pen and my bullet journal. It was time to close the year and here’s how I did it.

There’s no single way of reflection, so although I tend to use external materials as an inspiration, I mostly rely on my mood and personal needs. My objectives are both to record the key events of 2020, and to understand how they influenced me.
Bits of Glitter: The Amal Jugadi Totkay
By: Maryam Kiyani
Tags: Amal Totkay, 5 Rules To Success, Bits Of Glitters, Reflections

1. Self Talk

We should be mindful what we are talking to ourselves. All we talk about we create energy. The negative words have negative energy so make us more resonate-able to the negative frequency intern harming us. where as the positive words, Positive thoughts Let you to resonate with positive frequencies consequently making the whole universe to work for your endeavor. As we say “When you plan the whole universe get together to get you close to it.”

So like your self, Love your self, tell your self that you are amazing, you will make the whole world amazing.”

2. Get Out Of Comfort Zone

We should come out of comfort zone in order to gain success goals aren't achieved staying the comfort zone. The growth starts when you are out of the comfort zone.

According to Zoe. A. Onah,

Battles are not won in comfort zone.

3. Create New Habits

Creating new habits is always beneficial. Reflect on how you are now and what amendments do you need. And modify habits accordingly that will make you succeed.

4. Ask people for help

I am not a big fond of this totka. Its fine to ask for health but in this growing world of materialism and unfortunately selfishness which is slowly induced to the scarcity of chances getting a sincere hand, and that may cause you ending up in a huge deficit. You make yourself vulnerable to criticism and that an increase the issue. There are more around to add masala then to empath as we are grown in sympathetic world.

5. Fake it Till you make it

Yessssss, The most loved Amal Totka The most Juagadi one. Fake it tilll you make it. Or we can say “FAKE IT UNTIL YOU BECOME IT.”

A very good example related to this Is a tag behind a Rikshaw “Main bara ho kr truck banu ga” (I will be a truck when I get older.)

This doesn’t mean that he is going to turn the Rikshaw in the truck that is he is going to work that hard and earn money and become rich enough to buy the truck.

So faking provides the guidelines how you have to work hard to get to that place.
2020 Haul
Tags: Spiritual Growth, Reflections, New Year, Personal Growth, Poetry

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Lesson 1: What the pandemic has taught me
By: Tej Dhillon
Tags: Reflections, 2020, Self Improvement, 2021, Pandemic

Lesson One: What The Pandemic Has Taught Me

One of the first lessons I learned earlier this year is

I’ve been living for others quite often

Seeking their approval

Trying to see what other people find acceptable in this society,

but what happened

when everything got locked down? And I had no one else

To look for approval from?!

That’s when I truly learned if it wasn’t for the pandemic

I would have kept seeking to be like others

To get validation from the outside world

The pandemic has taught me to live with

The inside world, which is myself

To live true to my path

Solitude requires strength and that’s what this pandemic has taught me

That when you have nowhere else to go

You must seek the path for yourself when there is no one else around

That is when true strength is found

Solitude comes from the confidence of

Being comfortable alone and is one of the lessons this pandemic has taught me

Strength comes from the courage

To act alone and being willing

To face all the uncertainty that comes

With it

Making us more resilient
https://hphilip.medium.com/hey-2020-thank-you-seriously-b2074cb0a254
By: Sunday
Tags: Reflections, 2020, 2021, Thankfulness, Newbegingings

Hey 2020, thank you! Seriously.

Dear 2020, there’s a real hate on for you right now. It’s in the holiday cards, the Christmas ads, and every other…
Publish an Annual, Quarterly or Monthly Review on Medium
By: Krista Aoki
Tags: Year In Review, Reflections, Self Improvement, Goal Setting, Personal Development

Conducting Your Review

Begin by choosing categories for your review. What categories are important to you? Here are some ideas:

Friends & Family

Travel

Learning

Career

Finances

Health & Nutrition

Fitness

Side Projects

Next, go through each category and ask yourself a series of questions:

What went well?

What didn’t go well?

What things gave me joy?

What commitments did I dread?

How would I like to improve in this area for next year?

Using that last question as a springboard, you can start to set new goals or intentions for next year. Remember to make your goals measurable so that you can reflect about them during your next review!

Word for the Year

What do you want to focus on next year? Choose a word of the year as a way to set your intention for the next year.

Here are words I’ve chosen for myself in recent years:

Year of Decisiveness (2019) — A year to stop wasting energy on indecisiveness.

Year of Calm (2020) — A year of turning inwards so I could step off an emotional rollercoaster and be more calm.

Year of Quality (2021) — A word inspired by people in my life who are committed to doing things well.

Example Review

Looking for inspiration for your review?