June 15 2025 - The elephant therapy...

I’m so afraid of writing. I struggle a lot with it. I still don’t understand why.

And yet… I want to write.

Why? Maybe because when I write, I feel alive. Writing is a form of expression, and when I express myself, I exist. I live. I'm alive!!

I can’t dance, or sing, or paint, but I have so much inside me. It’s begging to come out, to exist, to be expressed. To be. Why do I want to express myself so much? Who knows. I want it like I want to eat, breathe, and drink water—only more. And yet I almost don’t do it.

Sometimes I wonder… am I some sort of puzzle? A broken project that came incomplete into this world? Or maybe a scattered puzzle that I have to slowly find and piece together?

(I’m crying as I write this—just so you know the mood.)

Why do I wonder? Because I’m a being with such intense emotions (Some more crying here) Deep, strong, powerful emotions. Natural disaster kind of powerful. Emotions that could wipe out a planet. Or maybe now they’re just like a dormant volcano.

I’ve always wanted to create. Since I was a child. I remember I was always coming up with different ideas. Solutions for problems.

I remember building this really detailed house for a school project. So detailed! I didn’t win because it wasn’t “functional” enough—it didn’t teach anything. But I didn’t care. I loved it. I was happy, engaged, figuring out the materials, the pieces, the design. That joy was enough.

I made lamps (I’ve always had a weird obsession with lamps, for some inexplicable reason). I made jewelry. I drew. I was hypnotized by ballet. I remember being five, glued to the TV watching ballet, completely drowned in the expression of it. I journaled. I listened to music. I sang. I ran. I moved. And I talked—oh my god, did I talk. At mach 25. Faster than anyone could follow. Nobody could shut me up.

I spoke too much, I felt too much, I cried too much, I was angry too much. I was always too much.

Why do I say I came to this world incomplete?

Well… you see artists? I associate emotions with expression. You feel them and you need to express them somehow. They are basically the ingredients for art. And yet—I'm so bad at all the “classic” art forms. Dancing, painting, singing. So why come into this world with so much capacity to feel? So much capacity to understand people before they explain themselves? (Even if I can’t always explain it myself.)

With all this feeling capacity and all the experiences that come with them… and what then? Why do I have them?

Well…. Now at this point in my life they are screaming to get out again. 

Looking back it feels as if I had wings. My life doesn’t form a straight line. It’s scattered dots. Random leaps before looking. Flying dandelion seeds carried by the wind. Decisions made simply because I felt like it. Why? Just a feeling. That's my life. Just a feeling that I don't understand why. 

Sometimes that meant dance because yes. Or I walk, or I listen to music, or I had an image in my head and painted it. Or I write in the walls of my bedroom, or I make earrings, or I make glass gloves. Sometimes moving across continents, Sometimes taking taekwondo's lessons and going to a competition to deal with a heartbreak. Random dots in the map.

Sometimes I feel like jumping from a plane, or diving into the sea, or taking wired turns. That's how my experiences feel like. Without taking the time to check I'm correctly strapped or have a parachute or a breathing tank. Just a feeling that I will land where I have to land and it will be fine. So random. So senseless. 

Have you ever seen a person who draws something upside down? And you don't know what they are drawing until they are finished and shift the perspective of the paint and just at the end you get it?

I really hope that's not my life but it looks that way. A bunch of random dots. Eventually I do get to places. I draw patterns and they do connect. But sometimes it takes 37 years for some of those dots to connect. I'm sure others will take longer. What it feels at the speed of an iceberg melting. 

So, back to writing. I need to express myself. That much I can gather.

I used to be convinced I couldn’t. I cringed at my journals. Brushed off people who told me “you should write a book.”

Until one therapist, Kemila, told me bluntly: “Yes you can. You just did. Look what you wrote on the intake form.  I have never had anybody write me almost a chapter!! You can write!!!” 

The determination in her voice and seeing someone professional saying something like that to me was the first crack at my own belief that I could write. Then I started to think about it from another perspective and I almost believed her. 

And then one random day, sitting on my brown sofa, I thought, I should start a blog. Just like that. A random dot. A tiny intuitive message, so small, imperceptible and fleeting, that I can’t be sure it was my inner voice talking or me imagining things. And so I went from “no way” to buying a membership and building a website within an hour. 😳 Terrified but determined.

Then terrification (spanglish word) happened. Questioning myself, doubts.Then I proceed either way and stick to it. Terrification at each step. 

But you know what? Each step, with terrification, excitement was there. Sometimes I was terrified and relieved. Sometimes doubts and discovery at the same time. Sometimes I smile. Sometimes I'm ashamed and question myself. It's a turmoil of emotions for sure.

But I think, every time I post a post… I felt good in the summary of all the emotions. Why? No idea. Just like one inexplicable dot. 

Then what happens. It's hard to write. I'm so afraid of writing. I'm in this pull and push. In a tug of war with my own soul.  She wants to write and also is afraid. I'm not really sure of what …. Still figuring that out. But the pull…. The pull is there every day. Write , write, write , write in my head. My rambling thoughts. 

You know how they say look before you leap and think before you speak. Well… I feel better when I leap before I look and speak before I think. Because otherwise I tend to overdo it.

So I'm in the extremes. I either think too much or not at all. But when I have felt the best is when I don't. Don't think and just do. Of course I have said ridiculous things and then feel ashamed. But overall… I prefer doing rather than thinking about doing. I hate stagnation. And that's where I stand when I overthink. 

So… in other words … I can't wait to “become” a writer. To be good and then do it. Nop.. I have to write shitty articles and posts that maybe somebody or nobody will read. That's my comfortable/uncomfortable zone. 

See, I’ve always felt like an elephant in a glass house. That's how I perceive myself growing up and pretty much all my life. But for a long time I tried to convince my elephant to be more like a ballerina, or less than an elephant. My point being I think I have to embrace my elephant and break shit. I'm the elephant in the room, so what?!

Break shit, be loud, make mistakes and stumble… yep, that's me. And that's ok. Do your worst but do it. That's when I feel my best. When I let my elephant lose. It's been a while though, since I left my elephant loose…. Then I also feel I can fly. Funny, no? Maybe I'm a bumble bee elephant 🐘🐝

Why, ironic. Technically bumble bees are not supposed to fly according to physics or so they say. But they do. They are not bound by physics perhaps. It makes sense in their little heads to look cute, fluffy and to fly too with their tiny little wings. And that's that. 

So.. when I'm an elephant… I feel I can fly. When I embrace my elephant… I'm light, I break chains and I'm me I guess.. And so, nothing can hold me back and everything is possible. The fact that I allow myself to do it whatever way.. Embracing all the mistakes and stumbles, that's the flying feeling. I feel just happy. I did it! Maybe my life is not about the destination quite literally and its just about doing.

Maybe I came here to ask the stupid questions that nobody wants to ask. To voice the stupid inner thoughts and doubts and struggles. To do things even when I'm feeling unprepared, insecure just because I felt like it. To make mistakes 100 times in different ways, taking my time to learn with each iteration and enjoying the iterations.

Maybe my life is about being an imperfect loud mess and learning while I stumble and break shit. But stumbling and doing I go, and one day I look back and .... I have draw paths in the sand.

Maybe to show there is not only one way to of doing things and arriving places. Not everyone has a 5 year plans ahead. Surely not me. Maybe my path is about searching more than finding. Because I find every time I search. The search is the becoming. The search is the finding.

I have learned by now, that I will find, and learn, every time I look. Maybe its about exposing myself from the scratch, like watching a cookie bake from a glass oven. While following my inner voice. Making all those mistakes very loudly and sharing them even before I get my conclusion?

So in short... my life path is that of sharing an unfinished idea, a never ending and forever evolving project. That sounds like freedom to me. Sounds like flying. Once you get over the terrification of how that sounds. Once you get over the disconfort of the judgment of yourself and others. Once you get over the apprehension of controlling time, expecting fixed things. Maybe be path IS the destination.

Maybe I have to embrace my inner elephant and just write. 

I kinda forgot what my point was. Honestly I just sat down to write , just because my elephant was in shackles. And I took deep breaths to do it still. So terrifying. So this is me, doing therapy with my elephant. Helping him/her see he/she is stronger than the shackles I guess? 

Side note: Funny like I say he/she when I speak about my elephant. Don't know why I felt the need to specify she/he. After all I identify myself as a she. Mystery to be unraveled some day. When another iceberg melts. But it felt right to say it that way.

Break shit!!! It's ok!!! Do your worst!!! So what? What's the worst that can happen?? Those are my pep talk, my encouraging words to myself … funny.

Soooo….. Writing!! I have established that writing is essential to me. But stressful as well (expectations I guess) Who knows what hidden beliefs are holding me back. 

I have mentioned that self expression is essential to me. More than anything in the world. 

I have established that I have no special talent. Maybe only talking, that might be one. But even that… requires a lot of skills. My dad was an amazing talker and speech giver. A master. I would have loved to have him around to share with him so much I have discovered and learned and matured and grown …Like I did with my mom. To have him as a mentor.. It would have been amazing to have his advice and observations for sure. This is a tangent. 

So no talents…. So what… I will still write. Because it makes me happy. So that's good enough of a reason. 

I do feel I have messages that want to come out. I do feel I have experiences I want to share. I love love love sharing anything. Makes me genuinely happy. To share. What do I have to share? Everything I learn.

I can't wait to share things I learn with people. Books that inspire me. Most of all … life discoveries and lessons and breakthroughs and aha! moments I have. So writing is to share my thoughts , and learnings and experiences. That must be one of the reasons …. 

I guess this is good enough for today. I sat, and I let my mind write itself on this page. That's a win for my elephant freedom. 

I'm sure this message might be a bit rambling, but if there is one thing this message was about, it is about sitting down and doing something I wanted to do and was afraid of doing it. And I did it. So mission accomplished I guess?

One thing I noticed is that I start to feel a sense of pride in myself every time I post that awkward, imperfect and long video, or this very not perfect text. Why? Because I wanted to say that, and I did it. Simple. I let my elephant break shit. And I'm starting to be happy with that. I go to bed and I smile now. I don't cringe. 

Ok, I'm gonna refer to this from now on, as my elephant therapy... so Im sorry if as part of my elephant therapy you have to read some shitty things. Yep... I assume that someone is reading:)