Day 07 – A picture of your most treasured item
My journal is the biography of my life, and my personal therapist. I’ve kept journals since the fourth grade, some of which I look back on and wish I could burn because the person encapsulated within them is embarrassingly different from the person I am today. But I’ve learned to accept those pages like all the others. The stack of worn books filled with memories reminds me that I am a constant work in progress.
Journaling wasn’t always easy for me. Even in something so private, I found it difficult to write about myself because I waged war with the demon of self-doubt. In my mind, there were reservations toward the words I would start to put down on paper. Fears, even. Maybe that sounds silly. Being afraid to write down what you really feel in a book no one is supposed to read. But I was.
In my head I’d think, “What if this isn’t what I really feel? What if I’m just being emotional? What if, after I fill these pages with everything going on inside of me, I reread them only to wonder how stupid I sound?”
I had to get over that. One of the biggest hurdles I’ve faced is accepting the fact that my thoughts and emotions count for something even if they’re fleeting, or misplaced. One of my readers said in a comment yesterday that we discover so much about ourselves when we put words to the unspoken feelings inside our souls. I couldn’t agree more.
Self-discovery comes with self-exploration. Not only that, as a writer I’m constantly honing the art I’ve dedicated much of my life to simply by putting words to things that didn’t always have them before.
For those reasons, I hold tightly to my journal. It’s a historical account of my life, and one day I’ll look back at them, thankful to have the memories and to see how my story unfolded.