A Selfish Endeavor

I am new to Blogging.

To be completely honest I am new to writing as well.

That being said, this blog is for me. I am using it as an outlet for my thoughts about my life so far. Particularly the last two years.

If you read this and can relate or benefit, then that is great. I am happy to help you through whatever it is that you are going through by pouring out my heart into this keyboard and sharing it with the world.

However, this is a completely selfish endeavor and I don’t want to be given credit where it isn’t due.

I am broken. I am just trying to find a way to restore what was shattered.

So, why name my blog “A Stamped Passport” when it essentially has nothing to do with traveling?

I was 12 years old when I created my Facebook account. The picture you see of the girl in the sand is me. I chose that picture because I remember everything about that day. I felt so beautiful and so worthy. It is a good reminder, every time I see this blog, about who I really truly am. I am beautiful and worthy. Also, It was my first profile picture.  Which brings me to my blogs name.

My first password was “a stamped passport”.  I chose this password because at 12 years old I felt like an old passport filled with stamps. Not in a good way. I thought I was worthless, worn, and impure. Like any 12-year-old girl I had hope for the future but in my darkest moments I felt this sense of self-hatred. I hated myself for things that I had done or that were done to me. No matter how innocent an adult would have seen it, I felt like I had committed the most heinous crimes. I was disgusted with myself. I thought that I was something to be tossed in the trash, forgotten about and replaced. Like an old, stamped passport.

Since then I have learned that most people don’t throw away their old passports. In fact I still have my old expired passport and my favorite thing about it is that it is full.

It is those stamps and markings in it that give it life and give it a story.

It is the same with us as humans, everything in our life, good and bad, is a part of our story.

Part of our beautiful, tragic, inspiring story.

So, here I am. Trying to find the beauty in what a lot of people would consider a “tragic” story.