Photo by Stocksnap on Pixabay Growing up, I spent most of my time either playing dress up in my room and acting out scenes from movies or writing in my journal. More often than not, I was writing. I remember first writing about my dad being in Iraq when I was in third grade. It was his second time in the Middle East and my family found out that we would also be moving. However, in class, I wrote about how I imagined his assignment. In my 9-year-old mind, it was sandy and hot. My dad was surrounded by barbed wire and he slept on a cot under a tent. The sun was sweltering during the day, but the moon was freezing at night. Obviously, this wasn't the most accurate depiction of Iraq and it was coming from brief Skype calls that fed my imagination at night. When I moved to Hawaii, I didn't write as much until I started middle school — well, specifically when I started therapy. My therapist told me about how journaling can help with negative thoughts. If I ever felt like I was spiraling, I could open up my Lisa Frank diary and write anything — so I wrote everything. It got to the point that I was considered the “notebook girl” whenever I went somewhere because people always saw me with a journal or notebook or a pad of paper. Lisa via Pexels As I moved on to high school, I decided to […]
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