The Permission to Be a Work in Progress**

9 AM, same coffee shop (Ethan remembered my order today—progress or pity? I’ll take it). The sun is doing that golden-hour-but-morning thing, my sketchbook is open to a half-finished design that looks like a punk rock ballerina threw up on it, and I’m… content. Not fixed, not perfect, just here.

A week ago, I was drowning in post-breakup what-ifs. Yesterday, I was riding the high of independence. Today? Today I’m realizing growth isn’t linear—and that’s okay.

Here’s what I’m learning:

1. Relapse is part of the process. Woke up at 2 AM last night and almost texted Jake. Almost. But instead, I screenshotted a meme my best friend sent me (a raccoon wearing sunglasses with the caption “new era, who dis?”) and laughed until I fell back asleep. Progress isn’t never stumbling—it’s stumbling forward.

2. My creativity doesn’t owe anyone pretty. My professor held up my latest design in class yesterday—a Frankenstein-esque mashup of lace and safety pins—and called it “bold, messy, and alive.” A month ago, I would’ve panicked at messy. Now? I’m starting to think messy might be my superpower.

3. Joy doesn’t need a reason. Danced in my pajamas to ABBA this morning. Bought a $3 succulent named Gary. Let my roommate paint my nails neon green (“It’s your reclaiming yourself color,” she said). None of it is profound. All of it is mine.

I used to think healing meant arriving at some finished version of myself. Now I see it’s just giving yourself permission to be—inconsistencies, weird phases, bad days, and all.

So yeah, I’m still a work in progress. But at least I’m my work in progress.

xx Mandy

(P.S. Ethan just asked if I’m a designer. I said yes—no qualifiers, no “just a student.” Baby steps.)