It’s funny how things we think are accidents end up saving us entirely.
This blog, though having moved many times and undergone multiple facelifts, has become just that for me: an accidental lifesaver. I discovered, in one of the darkest times of my life, a small spark of hope when it came to writing. And it was an accident because, for as long as I could remember, I hated any school assignment involving writing.
But also for as long as I could remember, I kept a journal. In fourth grade, I was gifted a beautifully lined journal complete with lock and key, and from that moment up until now, I do believe I’ve thoroughly enjoyed spilling secrets in written form.
I think much of life is spent feeling misunderstood, or perhaps even in unwanted isolation. I think that’s horrific, and I think I have grounds to say so because I have felt this way all too often. But also I think, and I now know, that from horrific experiences phenomenal stories are born.
In a season of loneliness and depression, I started writing. It not only became an outlet, but a friend. How my pen’s ink bled into paper, or playing with the arrangement of words to formulate sentences. No one told me how to write, so I simply wrote what I thought was interesting: secrets, struggles, and stories.
More accidents followed, and now today, you are reading this. Perhaps you, too, have felt misunderstood or not good enough. Perhaps you have secrets bottled up inside with no way of releasing them safely into the world, though you are dying to. Perhaps you just need one person–if even a perfect stranger–to tell you it’s going to be ok because they, too, have felt alone. But they have discovered that they’re really not. And neither are you.
So while this blog began in screaming loneliness surrounded by ugly white walls, it’s become a place where I hope you find hope, stories of struggle and “oh my word, me too” moments. ‘Cause we all know we’re far from perfect, so let’s not pretend anymore ok? No masks here.
I’m Sarah, but you can call me SB. Though I still struggle to claim myself as a writer, I have no problem referring to myself as a pilgrim. And though it’s cliche, I think that’s just what life is: a journey, and we happen to be little pilgrims wandering foreign lands and drinking too much coffee.
I believe in dark chocolate for breakfast, and celebrating even the smallest things. Wanderlust pumps through my veins, and I can be found daydreaming in coffee shops or holding hands of kids pretty much anywhere.
I’ve dabbled here and there, but my passions have stayed true: to love people as they come and to provide a safe place for secrets to unearth and growth to occur.
Rather than accepting what normal supposedly promises (think High School Musical breaking the status quo dance number), I’m an advocate for discovering one’s true self beyond the cookie cutter mold—no matter how messy the outcome.
You can find me on the east side of Washington State, hanging out with 4 year old twins all day and brainstorming way too many ideas for my book.