This is not the self help book you're looking for.

I’m a walking talking self help book in my head when it comes to dealing with me. But quite frankly, its the worst self help book I’ve ever read and I would 100% not recommend. This whole staying home thing has put a lot of weird stuff into perspective for me, and that all revolves around how I truly speak to my reflection. I used to post about meandering through the life of being an extremely emotional human and how that looked and felt. I used to pour everything onto a page because that is what I’ve always done. I write out the chaos and then share it with my friends hoping they too can have the courage to write out their own chaos.

That was the point of this website, the point in collecting all of these things together, to calm the chaos that never ended in my mind.

One day that stopped though, and a voice I had always recognized as rationality, or “rational brained kierstin,” started talking a little louder. What I didn’t realize was that voice masked as reason had bits and pieces of every insecurity I had gained over the last few years and was drowning out the part of me that I worked so hard on being confident in. Emotions.

Now, that is not to say I am a living breathing emotionless being, because that’s not true. What is true is the way I process what is going on in my head is completely different, and downright damaging. It went from pumping up the jam and working through the emotions thrown in my direction, to softly quieting them and placing them into tightly sealed boxes into a closet on a shelf in my brain that I created to essentially not deal with it.

My brain bullied me into being and feeling less, and I let it.

We read a lot of books for work about how to be a better leader, and that led me back to the books I owned on how to be better versions of you. I sat with this pile of books, the boxes in my brain rattling like crazy on their shelves, and just simply shrugged and took a shower. I have always had a difficult relationship with me, anyone who knows me knows what fuels my writing, complete and utter internal chaos. But as I got older, and cynical, and jaded even I began to just table the emotions, telling myself it was what it was and that I’d deal with it later.

Welcome to later, welcome to the time of introspection, welcome to the time where all the boxes on the shelf have become too heavy and “rationality” can’t hold it up anymore. Spring has sprung, we are stuck inside, and I am cleaning out the closet.