Handwriting

The week following the spring finals of my sophomore year, my therapist asked how I’ve changed since starting college.

I paused. Thought about it for a moment.

My handwriting got worse. 

He laughed and asked if that was it and I said no. That it wasn’t. 

I came up with other things but I kept going back to how much my handwriting sucks now. 

And it’s true. It does.

It’s sloppier, each letter is connected and sometimes I don’t even finish the word I’m on before jumping to the next.

He asked if that was a problem to which I said no. That it wasn’t.

It was just different. And strange. 

It was a quantifiable adjustment to my personhood. 

It’s not a bad thing. 

Or a good thing.

It is what it is. 

Two years really doesn’t seem that long ago.

I remember two years ago. Vividly, in fact. 

And I guess you don’t even realize your handwriting changed until you’re two years out and your therapist asks how you’ve changed and the only thing you can think of is that your handwriting sucks now. 

And truthfully, my handwriting isn’t even that bad.

It is worse but it’s not bad.

There's no metaphor here about how I’m a freer person because my handwriting sucks. 

No. 

It’s just weird to think about how many times we change without even realizing it.