tear-streaked pages, soulful reflections
The best conversations happen between you, your thoughts, and a blank page.
NOTE: This is the 15th edition of the Live Out Loud series. To view the full series please visit the table of contents. Make sure you never miss an issue, hit the subscribe button below.
Writing has been my ride-or-die.
It’s been my go-to during the storm, my way to shout from the rooftops when things go right, and—most of all—my uncensored pass to the wild maze inside my head. In the middle of all that mental clutter, journaling became a flashlight, showing me the stuff I didn’t even know I’d buried.
At first, journaling was simple.
Routine.
Just jotting down thoughts, dreams, goals.
Easy enough.
But the deeper I wandered into my own mind, the more those pages shifted. My scribbles turned sharp, filled with reflections that cut deeper than surface-level musings.
I remember that night.
Alone.
Sun sinking, its light creeping through the window, throwing weird, shifting shadows onto the paper in front of me. That day, I cracked open my journal, weighed down by emotions I hadn’t quite untangled yet.
It came after one of those deep, raw moments of self-reflection. A memory I hadn’t touched in years bubbled up, hit me like a freight train.
Left me drowning in it.
My hand shook as I grabbed the pen, the cool metal grounding me.
Just barely.
The words didn’t ask permission.
They spilled out, fast and steady, tracing my tangled thoughts.
The tears lagged behind.
But as I scribbled, something snapped. Something let go.
And then, like a dam breaking, the tears joined the flood of words. They streamed down, uninvited, but needed. Each sentence felt like a mirror. It reflected back the things I hadn’t been ready to see—raw, real, unfiltered.
Not just seeing.
Accepting.
Letting it all sit there, ugly and beautiful at once.
That night my journal wasn’t just some place to scribble down random thoughts. It became my knife and compass, cutting deep, finding things buried too long, guiding me through the mess of myself.
This wasn’t just a journal anymore.
It was more like a secret-weapon for my soul.
The Intellectual Evolution
My journal.
It's seen things.
Ugly things.
Beautiful things.
A silent witness to my chaos and my clarity, from the days when I was just a kid scribbling nonsense to those messy, roller-coaster years that followed.
Back then, it wasn’t poetry.
It was raw. Uncut.
Words scratched onto paper like desperate cries for someone to just get it.
To get me.
Loneliness. Isolation.
The sting of bullying.
That journal soaked it all up, ink-stained, tear-splattered. A mess—but a constant. My corner to scream into when the world was too loud, too big, too… cold.
Then came the teen years.
More complicated. More confusing.
My journal wasn’t just a refuge anymore. It morphed into a mirror. One I didn’t always want to look at. Because what I saw? A kid angry, lost, trying to fit into a mold that never quite fit.
That journal watched me wrestle with myself.
The growing gap between who I was supposed to be and the wreck I felt like.
Rebellion crept in.
So did fear.
The creeping doubt that maybe—just maybe—I’d never figure it out.
But I kept writing.
Kept pouring out the parts I couldn’t say out loud.
Fast forward to my twenties. Enter: network marketing.
I thought, Finally! My ticket out. My shot to reinvent myself.
Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
The whole thing fell apart. And yeah, my journal captured every shaky moment of it. The quotes, the mantras, the desperate belief that success was just around the corner. Until it wasn’t. Until I was staring at another mess, another failure, wondering what the hell came next.
The journal knew, even before I did. It held the unraveling, page after page.
Marriage. Betrayal. Divorce.
My journal chronicled it all. Every fight. Every doubt.
Every sleepless night when I couldn’t breathe under the weight of it all crashing down. I wrote through it. Scribbled furiously. Some nights, angry. Others, just numb.
And when it all officially imploded, when the papers were signed and I was left homeless, the journal was still there. Still catching every ugly tear and late-night scribble as I tried to piece together what was left of me.
Then came the deep thinking.
Homeless, wandering, lost—but thinking.
Eastern philosophy. Western psychology. Zen Buddhism.
Freud’s theories. Jung’s archetypes.
Even that twisted duality of Jekyll and Hyde.
My journal became something else. It wasn’t just a place to dump feelings anymore. It became my mental playground, my sketchpad for ideas. Slowly, as I scribbled down those complex thoughts, I started unraveling the tangled mess in my head.
Not just writing about it. Working through it.
Journaling became something different then.
Bigger.
Every page felt like a deep dive into the parts of me I’d been too scared to face. Each word was a tool. I was digging up the stuff I’d buried, stuff I’d ignored. And with every entry, I was piecing together the shadows, learning that all the things I hated, feared, or hid were part of the whole picture. I had to stop running from them if I ever wanted to heal.
Looking back now—that journal—it wasn’t just some passive observer.
It was the key.
The backdoor into my subconscious.
Each page a step deeper into the mess of me.
Writing didn’t just help me see the parts of myself I’d hidden.
It made me accept them. It was through those late-night scribbles that I finally stopped fighting the shadows. I embraced them. That’s how I healed. How I grew.
And yeah, in all that mess of self-discovery, nature showed up too. It found its way into the journal. The rhythm of the seasons. The flowers pushing through the cold. Trees shedding their leaves, letting go.
I saw pieces of myself in that.
Every sunrise on a hike. Every quiet moment in the woods. Nature was doing its thing, mirroring my own rough, uneven process of healing. And those little moments of peace made it into the journal too. Little snippets of hope scrawled between the chaos.
So, what started as a lifeline, a last resort, became my teacher.
A guide.
My journal was more than ink on paper—it was proof that the act of writing, of putting thoughts into words, was how I untangled the knots in my soul.
Every messy, scribbled page became my roadmap.
Eventually, all of that—those journal entries—became something bigger.
It became Healing Thoughts.
A newsletter where I could throw my own story into the world, share the struggles and revelations. The journal wasn’t just my story anymore. It became a shared space, connecting those same struggles we all face.
Now that worn, dog-eared journal is a relic.
A survivor of it all.
Every time I flip through those pages, I see the journey. The strength it took to face the shadows, to walk through the chaos. And the growth that came from it.
The journal was never just a place for thoughts.
It was a space to become.
Sharing My Wisdom
My journal didn’t just hold my thoughts.
It became the engine revving up everything I threw out into the world.
Scribbles.
Half-baked ideas.
Quotes that hit deep at 3 AM.
They'd pull at me—begging to be shared. Like the words weren’t meant to be locked away on paper, but tossed into the universe, stirring things up. That urge to take what I’d learned, felt, or stumbled into fueled my daily texts, my TikToks, my every post.
Take TikTok.
It’s where I’d spin those messy, personal journal entries into something real.
Raw.
I’d dive back into pages filled with emotion, with meaning buried between the lines, and turn them into something punchy—something that fit into 60 seconds.
Sometimes, it’d be a quote scrawled in the dark, a flash of clarity I couldn’t ignore. Other times it was deep cuts. Digging into the wreckage of shadow work or untangling emotions knotted up from my past.
My journal was the spark. The origin. Those private reflections transformed into stories, lessons, straight-up calls to action for anyone watching.
And people were. Watching, feeling, connecting.
Same with my daily texts.
I wasn’t sending empty words. I was digging through old entries, mining them for bits of truth. Pieces that could lift someone up, give them clarity, or just remind them that they’re not alone in this messy game of life.
These weren’t “motivational quotes.” They were pieces of me, born from my own battles with pain, joy, and growth. Each message I sent was more than words—it was a sliver of my journey, hoping to land where it was needed most.
My journal was a never-ending source.
Not just for content, but for connection.
Every time I shared a part of me, whether in a TikTok or a daily text, I’d get this flood of messages. People telling me how something resonated, how it struck a chord they didn’t even know was there. My thoughts became their thoughts. My healing became their healing.
That’s when it hit me: this journal wasn’t just a tool for me.
It was a guide—for all of us.
One night, I was parked under some sad, flickering streetlight, feeling like I had nothing left.
Exhausted. Drained.
And yet, there I was, flipping through my journal.
Then it clicked.
The prompts I’d been writing for myself weren’t just for me.
They were keys. Questions that had pulled me out of the darkness, kicking and screaming, could do the same for others. What if my survival prompts could help someone else survive?
That’s when the 365-Day Shadow Work Journals were born.
It wasn’t about my journey anymore.
It was about ours.
I wanted those prompts to be a flashlight for someone else, guiding them through the maze of their own subconscious, just like they had for me. Every prompt was crafted with care, a nudge toward the shadows we all avoid.
They weren’t just questions—they were lifelines. Each one designed to crack open the door, let a little light in, and help people face the parts of themselves they’d buried.
Creating the journals was all about empathy.
Compassion.
The stuff I’d needed when I was at my lowest.
I wanted every prompt to feel like a small push—like I was there, whispering, “Keep going. You’re not alone.” That’s what journaling had been for me. Not a fix-all. But a companion in the dark. And now, I wanted it to be that for others.
When the 365-Day Shadow Work Journals finally came to life, it was like handing over a map I’d scribbled on in the dark. Something that could guide others through their own storms.
The journal wasn’t just mine anymore—it was for anyone ready to dig deep.
And the response was overwhelming.
People picked up those journals, started writing, and suddenly, they weren’t alone. My TikTok community, the people who had been my cheerleaders, became the heart and soul of the project.
Their struggles, their wins, they fueled everything.
My inbox blew up with messages from every corner of the planet.
It was amazing.
People pouring out their stories, sharing how those prompts cracked open something inside. Gratitude. Relief. The stuff that hits you deep.
Every message felt like proof—real, raw proof—that self-reflection, scribbled on paper, can change everything. It was a reminder that while our pain wears different faces, we’re all on this same wild hunt for peace, for clarity, for some version of healing.
Connected. Even in the chaos.
“I've been using this book to document my healing journey and it's been amazing. I've had to face my shortcomings and accept them. There are cute quotes and affirmations that really help brighten up the day. It's about facing the trauma and taking accountability for yourself, self-love, and acceptance but also realizing that your trauma responses and trauma overall is not your fault it is environmentally bred and this journal helps you work through and unpack a lot of that.”
“If you have lots of traumas to heal Id definitely recommend this book. Its a shadow work. You'll laugh, cry, and a whole lot of emotions. Its a must try for someone who wants to get started working on oneself.”
“I wanted a shadow work journal that would whack me over the head and make me reevaluate my life in a meaningful way, and this does that. The questions are deep and thought provoking, and where I get a little intimidated by them, because of how personal they get, that's the point, right? I'll recommend this to others for sure.”
From Pain to Inspiration
In helping others sort through their emotional clutter, I found myself unraveling my own. Funny how that works. The stories I heard, the bonds I made, the realizations that blindsided me—all of it hit home. Hard.
What started as me coping with my own mess exploded into something bigger.
A movement.
A reminder that we, as humans, are wired to bounce back. To grow.
To rebuild from the ashes, no matter how burned we feel.
Every time I write now, I’m reminded of the magic in it. The way words can heal, spark something inside, and maybe even shift your whole world.
My journal, once a dumping ground for my pain, has turned into a launchpad. Not just for me but for the thousands who’ve joined this ride.
It’s incredible.
Journaling isn’t just scribbling your feelings into the void. It’s staring them down, wrestling with them, and coming out the other side stronger.
And as I type these words, I’m hit with this wave of gratitude.
For the messy road I’ve traveled.
For the lessons, bruises, and breakthroughs.
For that journal—a battered old thing that’s always been my ride-or-die, reflecting where I’ve been and lighting the path forward. It’s more than a record of my life. It’s a witness, a reminder that writing isn’t just about documenting—it’s about living wide awake.
Looking back, I see it clearly: my journal wasn’t just a place to vent.
It was a lifeline when I was drowning.
It evolved, just like me.
From a quiet, ink-stained refuge to a megaphone for self-growth, reaching people all over the world. And as I dug deeper into my own healing, I started crafting these writing prompts. Not just fluffy questions, but the kind that get under your skin. That push you to peel back layers, to sit with what’s uncomfortable, and to talk to yourself in a way that feels raw, but kind.
That’s where the real change happens.
Hope for the Future
Reflecting now, I’m floored by the shift.
From drowning in sorrow to lighting sparks of inspiration, it’s been one hell of a ride. Full of roadblocks, doubts, mess-ups.
But every stumble pushed me forward.
Every failure cracked me open just enough to let some truth spill in.
And yeah, the journey’s been brutal.
But I’m grateful for every shaky step, every frantic word scrawled, every little bit of wisdom I managed to squeeze out of the chaos.
Now I’m walking into this next chapter with some fire in my belly. Journaling isn’t going anywhere—it’s my lifeline. And I’m ready to spread the word, to show people just how much power there is in getting real with yourself.
If you’re in the thick of it right now, listen up: you’re not alone.
You’ve got more strength than you think. You’ve got the guts to face what’s lurking inside, and you’ve got the power to come back swinging.
Your story is yours to write.
So don’t skip the tough parts. Embrace the whole damn thing.
Celebrate your wins—big, small, whatever.
And when it gets rough—be gentle with yourself.
Every time you read a Healing Thoughts newsletter, you’re getting a piece of me—my struggles, my triumphs, my proof that we’re all tougher than we look.
There’s light here, even when things feel pitch black. And there’s a crew, ready to walk with you, offering support, understanding, and a whole lot of heart.
Together We Can Change the World
Come with me.
Let’s rip open the layers, wade through the mess of self-discovery, and feel the ache of growth together. It’s going to hurt, sure. But there’s healing on the other side.
And who knows…
Maybe the ripple we start—together—spreads far beyond us. Maybe hope, empathy, and understanding trickle out, one journaling prompt at a time.
To the future keepers of the 365-Day Shadow Work Journals: buckle up.
It’s going to be a ride—one filled with epiphanies, breakthroughs, and change.
I hope the prompts give you comfort when things get tough.
I hope you find strength in your story and hope in the pages you fill.
As you write, may you see more of yourself, appreciate the struggle a bit more, and find fresh hope for whatever’s next.
My name is your name because my story is your story.
And like mine, your story is proof of how damn resilient we are. A reminder of the power that comes from getting knocked down and still choosing to stand up. Of how connection saves us when we think we’re too far gone.
The hardest moments usually hit right before everything changes.
And trust me, that change is coming.
Believe in where you’re heading, even if the road looks rough.
Trust your strength.
Hold tight to hope, even when it’s barely a flicker.
Keep pushing. Keep healing. Keep growing.
Because you are a walking testament to resilience. A reminder that persistence wins. And you inspire more people than you know.
Thanks for being part of my story.
Here’s to the next chapter, the adventures waiting to be written, and the journey that’s just getting started.
Here’s to healing. To growth. To transformation.
Here’s to you—yes, you—and the collective journey we’re on, step by step, toward clarity and recovery.
One thing: you’re not doing this solo.
We’re a community, building each other up, healing side by side.
Let’s keep moving. Tomorrow’s waiting.
P.S. Your time and engagement with this edition mean a lot. Every reader adds value to our journey together. Thank you for being here!
P.P.S. "Journaling: because sometimes the best therapist is a blank page and a pen that doesn’t judge."
Stepping into yourself—bold move. Props to you for that.
But don’t kid yourself; this isn’t a one-and-done deal. It’s a relentless trek inward, and trust me, it never really stops, just shifts and twists with time.
And to give you a hand, here’s something I’m stoked about: the 365-Day Shadow Work Series. Think of it as your deep dive into self—no fluff, just real, raw reflection.
This series doesn’t play around.
It throws you into the thick of it, with pointed questions that push you through the muck of sadness, self-doubt, and grudges.
Every page, crafted to steer you, challenge you, and yeah, maybe even break you open a little. It’s not just a journal—it’s your new ritual in self-discovery.
Before You Go
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