A Seat At the Table

I don’t know if I have exhausted the topic of happiness. I was doing some reading on writer’s block and the author thought it came down to fear – being afraid to write something and pushing through the fear, breaking it down.

I know I’m afraid of a few things. But in that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel in the form of a dream I had last night.

In this dream, I knew myself and knew how much I was worth as a human being. It was simple and profound as I saw all of the roads that opened up to me because of it. I was worth more than to just be a memory. I was worthy to be given a chance, to be heard, to be cherished and loved. In that dream, I didn’t see myself as a burden. I didn’t see myself as unlovable, I didn’t see myself as unworthy of…anything. I had a shot equal to anyone else to get what I wanted. I was not guaranteed what I desired, but the universe dealt me a fair hand. I was not worth more than other human beings, but I was not worth less. I was given a seat at the table, and I made my voice heard.

I had power. I wrote a few lines this morning:

I still do have this power. I am not made less because of how I see myself. I have an equal opportunity to receive happiness. It was an incredibly enlightening dream.

Fear holds me back a lot. All of this got started because I don’t often believe I have a chance to win any contests or be heard by anyone with a large social reach. I don’t quite see myself as likely or able to get that chance. Then something clicked
in my brain and I had the thought of, and pardon my French, “fuck it, I have a chance, as good as anyone’s. Let’s do it” as I was contemplating writing to someone about my music. So I did it, then had that dream.

I have heard a phrase over and over again that’s just now getting stuck in my head –

“What you seek is also seeking you.”
I’m not sure who said that, but I know it is real based off of what I have been seeing in my life as of late. I know nothing can come from nothing, so there must be something good about what I’m doing and I should honor that.

I wrote this a few nights ago as I was falling asleep. We are made of starstuff, as I believe Carl Sagan put it.  I believe it.

So it seems that the spot at the table is still open. It is up to me – and to you – to take it.

And to the person wondering what they are worth –

You, too are offered a seat at the table. Your worth is infinite. You have a voice. You have a heart that is special and your desires are valid. Speak up. You are loved. I want to hear what you have to say. Who knows who else you can touch with your words and your actions! You are also a star.

And to you, dear star, I say – shine.



Like what you see? Buy me a coffee and keep the good times rolling!

Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com



Hey, gentle readers.

I confess that I’m not doing very well today. I’ve been fighting off the depression side of my mental friend bipolar, and add anxiety and slight dysphoria to that, and you have my current headspace. I’m at the point where I am just waiting for my mind to finish throwing its fit and trying to get on with my day. Work is scaring me even though I know to give myself a break. I don’t want to do anything, you know? Even though there’s stuff to be done. Coffee is brewing, which might wake me up. We’ll see. If this post is pretty short, that’s why.

(I am safe. I’m not at risk of hurting anyone, myself or anyone else. Brain is just being its glitchy self.)

My depression right now feels like everything is heavy. My arms, my heart, my environment. I’m fatigued. I’ve been meaning to make a psych intake appointment for about a month now and the thought of doing so seems more difficult than usual. I don’t want to say “I’ll do it tomorrow”, but everything feels too heavy to want to move. I’ll ask if we can do a phone intake. I hope they say yes.

For once, I want to truly claw my way out of it. I want to actually be happy, and I don’t understand why this depression is happening. But I also know that if I try to do too much, it would be like trying to run on a sprained ankle. I should be putting my “ankle” up and being kind to myself, but instead my inner bully is being hyperactive and I’m criticizing everything I do.

I was given a new idea by a friend who in turn heard it from a friend of theirs. I am going to adapt it to my own imagination. They told me about an exercise wherein they would picture an orb and manipulate it with their imagination and in time with their breathing and the mood they wanted. I want mine to be a crystal spinning. Call me weird, but I think it might work.

I’ve also found that I get sad around a certain time of night both at the house and at work, so I might ask to take my break then. I hope my managers will listen.

Something I’m proud of is that I’ve been blogging for almost three weeks straight, never missing a day, no matter how hard life gets or how stressed I am. It’s refreshing to sit back and just write for an hour or so. I’m taking it one day at a time and consciously making time for it, and I’m applauding myself for it.

About dysphoria, I still want to lop all of my hair off. That’s still here. -sigh-. So I want to grow my hair out and put it in a low ponytail Founding Fathers style, or get rid of it all and go for a Halsey look. I also put on an actual bra on after wearing my binder for a bit and it felt like waking up from one of those really good, really detailed dreams and being disappointed that that wasn’t real life. It sucked, but it was good to take a break. I’ll give it that.

If someone says “you look like a guy” at work if I cut my hair, I will elbow-bump them. Elbow bumping is not a bad thing. It’s our equivalent of a fist bump.

I’ll do better about taking care of my ankle today. May all of your ankles be okay.

Until next post,



I’m listening to my Spotify 2018 rewind playlist and I played a lot of these songs when my husband and I first started dating. “Superhero” by Kormac is on. I remember waking up to it after he ended our Skype call one night. It’s kinda weird hearing all of these songs that bring back so many memories from just last year and thinking about how so much has changed. I’m MARRIED now, something I thought would never happen to me, for one. I live in my ideal environment and in a place I’ve always dreamed of living. I am beyond lucky.

Even though dysphoria has been confusing and scary, I have been happy overall. I have many, many things to be thankful for – friends who get me, a husband who loves fiercely and is also my best friend, yogurt in the fridge, computer parts to play with. I love so many things here. Owl City is in my ears now, and he’s one of my biggest inspirations. Call me a sap, but these times are beautiful and made to be noticed and be grateful for.

I’m also thankful for this journey of self discovery, painful though it may it be at times. I’m learning, and that is important. That matters. I found a great article from the website The Body is not an Apology about self care when you’re in a bad dysphoric spot. I’ll share it at the end of the post!

If you’re in a learning period, I know it can look bleak from where you are. You may struggle with thoughts of hopelessness and worthlessness. I know these feelings all too well. There will be good times ahead, so don’t break yourself or beat yourself up. I won’t tell you to “keep your chin up”, or anything like that, because that is, pardon my French, bullshit. Instead, stay warm, tend to yourself, stay safe. I’m here if you want to talk.

Love, Meg

Here is the article:


This is me.

This…is me.

You might be wondering why in the world this blog came to be, how you got here, or why you should care about some kid who is confused about most everything, like growing up and gender. Like, what are those things?

So let’s get what we can straight.

I’m Meg, I’m 21 years old, and I live in Alaska with the grand love of my life/soulmate. I’m a musician, poet, and (amateur) historian.

As far as what I am goes, I identify fairly closely with the term “agender” because it seems like my preference toward any identity just up and said “screw you” and left. As a result, I feel like everything and nothing at once, or simply… me.

How this looks in practice is that you can see me in light of however gender you want, there is no way to get it – me – wrong. So if one person calls me “sir” and five minutes later another person calls me “ma’am”, I’m fine with that. I won’t move to correct either.

This was all fine and good until I felt a large wave of discomfort towards my body that completely knocked me off my feet. Now I don’t know what to do with it except dress up in my favorite button downs (which actually make me feel like me, as compared to other clothes I have) and strap myself in. It’s gonna be a ride.

See you next post!