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Emilee

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My front facing camera broke on my phone, making my already limited picture taking even MORE limited. Have a throw back from last spring. I have a blog post in the works. Life has been kinda nutty, my laptop *also* bit the dirt, and things have been kind of overwhelming. Y’all are always on my mind, though! You’ll be hearing from me soon. 💕
Classes yesterday brought to you in part by @leakycon (I don’t usually dress up for costume week, but i do try and incorporate Harry Potter to some degree 🤷🏼‍♀️)
New blog post, link in bio!
My friend Bailey and her company @companythreesixty made this and I have no more words to add. It’s perfect. #Repost @catchingbreaths with @get_repost ・・・ Why didn’t I report? I didn’t report because I thought that if I’m in a relationship with someone, it meant it was equally my fault. I thought the years of unhealthy feelings towards myself which ensued, were still invalid since it could have been worse. I thought I shouldn’t tell my Momma until a couple of years later on a beautiful mountain walk together, and even then, I softened the story from shame for how I’d appear to the person I love the most. I didn’t report because we live in a world where men use sentences like “it can always be worse” as psychological shrapnel. A world that tells us we should have done more to stop it. A world that, even when I remember the attempts to push away as clearly as consciousness cinema, I was scared to push too hard because I didn’t want to make someone mad. A world that makes me worry at sharing, because I have young students and ‘should be a role-model’: with a role model being pure, respectable, elite, undamaged. Now, a mother, wife, champion, boss... I still worry to report as innocuously as through a #WhyIDidntReport hashtag, lest I somehow appear less for having shared. But as someone who’s survived a darkness far worse than that described, and Shawshanked her way to a life of light- save for second glances over shoulders- I can say that the hardest person to report to is actually... yourself. It’s the you that you had once hoped to be. The you that you’ll never be again. The you that you wish you could go back and protect. The you you wish you had been (louder, less in shock, less weak). The you that once was but was taken. To all the Yous you once were reading this (and the You in me who still feels cemented by shame)... this should never have happened. It doesn’t matter how loud, quiet, forceful... how well you knew them.... You didn’t deserve to lose You because your body wasn’t left as yours. None of us do. None of us ever will. There is no good way to end this bit of writing, because the truth is: it hasn’t ended. A perfect sentence will not wrap this up. Y
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Teaching on my birthday is my favorite thing. Hi, I’m 30, and I gave full sized cupcakes to three year olds and I’m sure their parents hate me

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How you got there.

I was re-reading through some of the blog posts of when Oz first began rehearsing today. I really wanted to see the difference from when it began to when it ended. Now that it’s just a memory, there are certain set things I’ll subconsciously choose to remember over others, and this show has had no shortage of happy memories.
But what made them so happy? What made them strike so deeply to stay with me the way they did? I have memories of it, but I really wanted to read my thoughts on it and not just rely on what I remember. Future events have a way of skewing how we remember beginnings because now we have the advantage. We have the full picture. Nothing is uncertain. The story is written.

(This is one of the reasons I love blogging and journaling so much. Memories are wonderful, but there’s something about the full story–the beginning, the process, the finish–that helps you get more out of it; more out of life.)

I remembered that there were hard days. I remember going home in tears a couple times. I remembered struggling and hoping I would improve. But I had forgotten how far I’ve really come the past few months.

Now I know what people think of me. Now I know that I’m loved and accepted here. Now I know that I am capable of doing these roles that were a bit of a reach for me–not just do them, but do them well.
Now that it’s done, I know it’s possible.
But what about then?
The days when the future was uncertain. When I had to go forward in blind confidence, hoping that it would be enough. When I didn’t know if I was cast for this role out of an obligation to my level, or because they thought I was capable.

Everything that happened to me the last few days of Oz are wonderful, but what makes them sweeter is remembering the beginning. The fears I overcame. The victories that resulted. The kindness I was shown. The work ethic that I learned. I can look back and see the path these friendships took as they were being formed, which can be forgotten now that the friendship is set. Does that make sense?

Celebrate where you are, but never forget how you got there.

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