Lived · Questioned · Saw it differently
Too much
saved me.
I spent half my life trying to become less of who I was.
I don't anymore.
I'm Kim Washburn. I'm 53, 18 years sober, married 27 years, mother of two, artist, student, writer — and still figuring shit out. I'm writing about what happened when I stopped trying to fix myself and started questioning what I'd been told needed fixing.
Come With MeI've been called too much for most of my life.
Loud. Dramatic. Intense. Impulsive. Emotional. Obsessive. Overbearing.
I spent years believing some version of the same thing: if I could just fix enough of myself, eventually I'd get it right.
Except something strange happened.
The older I got, the more I began to see that some of the things I had spent my life trying to eliminate weren't defects at all.
Some had protected me.
Some had propelled me.
Some had saved me.
What if we've been calling things by the wrong names?
- Control isn't always love.
- Surrender isn't giving up.
- Mad can be sad's protector.
- More can FILL you or EXPAND you. Those aren't the same thing.
- Reinvention isn't necessarily becoming someone new.
- And "too much" may not be something that needs fixing.
Watch
Unscripted conversations, as I have them.
A companion series to the writing — first-person, mostly unscripted, filed under @realkimwashburn.
Come with me.
I'm writing this as I live it. Leave your email and I'll send the next one when it's written. That's it.
You're in.
I'll send the next one when it's written.