The Truth Lies Within
What I’ve always known to be true.
As things come up in my journaling and through my journaling process, I know more and more every day what I am being called to do.
Even though I have no idea what I’m doing or how I’m going to get to where I’m going, I trust that my path is right for me.
That what I do day in and day out is exactly what I need and my soul needs.
To share my messages. To release the truth inside me.
To heal and revisit the events/stories of my past.
To uncover yet another layer of healing.
Because this work is never done.
As I heal, move through and move past the beliefs + ideals + rules that have held me back from reaching my true potential.
And I am in awe and wonderment with what triggers me and what doesn’t anymore.
What I fully open myself up to and what I still hold back on.
I am trying to speak my truth and honor every previous version of me so that I can continue moving forward into the unknown.
Into my purpose.
Into my power.
I must face every dark corner of my life. Bring light to every situation. Re-write every story.
Remind each and every version of Amy that it’s okay to feel the way she felt.
To feel every emotion.
To validate her existence.
That she is accepted and divinely loved beyond measure.
That who she is is exactly who the world needs her to be.
Not who she thinks the world wants her to be.
And maybe that’s true – that the world wants her a certain way because that’s what makes them comfortable.
But it’s not about them. It’s not about what anyone else thinks and believes.
It’s about what I think and I believe. And honoring that.
Honoring who I am at my core.
Honoring the way I think + feel + grow.
My whole life I have enjoyed solitude.
Sitting in silence.
Away from the noise of the world.
To sit and be with my words.
To write and write and write until there is nothing left inside.
Until the feelings have dissipated
I turned to my journals every. single. time.
And that’s just it. It was always from that negative place.
No wonder my life was a wreck! I kept calling that shit in.
Because I could only scream so loud.
I could only cry so hard.
My journals gave me a place to escape. To really get it all out.
And how inconsistent I was.
But I always knew that I could take pen to paper and I could just. release.
Be exactly who I was in those moments.
Ripping the band-aid, exposing my wounds, expressing how I really felt.
Because no one else would listen.
And it’s funny now because I am still that person. I am still that girl with her pen, writing furiously to get it all out.
But it’s different now.
Yet somehow the same.
My thoughts, my beliefs, my vision, my view, my version.
It all still comes pouring out of me.
Spilling onto thousands of pages. My soul’s rawest expression of experiences.
I am one with my words.
I am one with this process.
I can’t not.
And I am sure that given the opportunity… I could write for hours or even days. Non-stop. Until my hand couldn’t move anymore.
And then I could keep going.
Find another way to release all that is inside me.
Because today, like yesterday, THIS is what I’ve always known to be true.
That I am a writer. I always have been. I always will be.
And this is how I heal.
But it wasn’t until now, coming up on my 36th birthday, that I have embraced it.
I mean fully, truly, honestly, unapologetically, embraced it.
The one thing I have always done.
The one thing my soul craves day in and day out.
The one thing I can’t not do daily anymore.
From my soul to yours,