Journeying Between The Lines.
Finding growth in my practice and peace in the pages.
Last week, while flipping through my journal pages, I noticed my writing to myself has evolved over the last year, but even more for the last six months. I couldn’t believe how kind and compassionate I was in the lines of the page. The unfolding of painful truths met with grace and understanding and assurance that everything would work together in the end. I gave myself permission to break and put myself back together again with love and care. Tending to my seeds with tenderness and care. I created a space that made it safe for me to come back time and time again. I found peace in the lines of these pages. Knowing there wasn’t a problem too big or a detail too small that these pages couldn't handle. Some days took two pages, and others took ten. If you ever wanted to know what I could do with an hour, give me a notebook and a pen. I will create a world unlike any other. I created blueprints. I created healing. I documented proof of my labor as a vessel—an architect of words and worlds. I spoke words that the doctor couldn’t speak and provided safety that could only be found in a space that feels like home.
Through my journal practice, I saw my reflection clearer than any mirror could ever allow. I died at the seams and brought myself back to life, but better than before. I saw what it means to love and hold space. I saw truth even in the midst of pain. I found the sun slowly peaking from behind the clouds in the rain.
Trouble don’t last always, and I’m a living witness. The pages saved my life. The pages taught me love. I found my voice in the folds. I saw my life before my eyes—a testament to change and transformation. My words live forever.
I used to think my pain and trauma would taint every word I wrote. How many more ways can I say I feel too broken to be put back together again? Judging myself for my truth, feeling guilty for my pain. How can I be the writer I always dreamed of if everything on the other side of the pen is rooted in despair? Aint no more room in this world for another sad black woman. I had to write my truth to make it to the other side. I stopped running from my pain, and I gave it a place to unwind… provided space for my spirit to weep and for my feelings to exist without the consent or availability of another being. Page after page, pen after pen, day after day. I made it through.
When you want to find peace, take it to the pages. Let it be your altar and release the words that make you feel heavy. You no longer have to bear the burden of crosses not meant for you.
Until next time,
Ty ♾️