A Journey to Letting Go - Journaling Prompts

Does anyone have a pen?

As many (or perhaps none) of you know, I'm a writer at heart (at hand?). I'm constantly jotting down little poems, captions, stories, and—yes—journal entries. Writing is how I see the world, or rather, come to know and understand it. Well, maybe not THE world so much as MY world, my inner world of thoughts, emotions, dreams, and desires. I completely agree with one Flannery O'Connor who penned the words, "I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say." 

Journaling in particular calls to me more than many other forms of writing (maybe that's why this blog sometimes appears very much like a journal, albeit much edited... I don't trust the internet, haha). I remember my first journal. I was around 10 years old when I got it for my birthday (along with pierced ears). It was a small purple book with two tiny tabby kittens on the front (don't judge). It actually wasn't a "journal." It had a lock on it. Everyone knows a book with a lock on it is, in fact, a diary, not a journal. 

The gold keyhole marks that something secret was kept hidden inside. 

For whatever reason, as a child, I hated writing "dear diary" at the start of each entry. D i a r y ... the word just sounds stuffy to me. It also sounds fragile. It was as if even writing the word "diary" into existence meant I was putting out all my dirty laundry onto the little lines of the page. I guess maybe it was vulnerable? I quickly learned that the word "journal" felt more authentic for me. Journal felt really close to the word "journey" which was what I found writing actually helped me with. Putting my words down in a journal allowed me to take a journey myself, an adventure of sorts through my thoughts and feelings, through my conscious and my subconscious, through my perspective and my expectations. 

Yes, this was a journey, a journal. 

Needless to say, I became fast friends with journaling. I still journal just about every day/night. Sometimes it's long, most of the time it's short. Sometimes it's in complete sentences, other times it's bullet points or anything I can manage. Sometimes, it's in the third person. Sometimes, it's processing my past. Sometimes, it's listing all the times I can remember smiling that day. 

Yes, this is a journey, a journal. 

I recently came across some journaling prompts beautifully crafted and created by Melissa Moffet. She's probably one of the most authentic people I follow on Instagram (or, at least, that's the vibe I get from her feed). Her feed might be about her photos, but I like to think it's about her captions. That's where her spirit truly shines. It seems every caption has some encouragement or challenge or story or call to hope wrapped in it. I've bookmarked a lot of them, actually. But, that's besides the point. The point is, she started doing these "Worthy" journaling prompts to give people a glimpse into this new course she's creating on finding / creating a sense of self-worth, and to share some of her own journey in that area. I decided to check out the PDF of the prompts, and I have to say WOW. I absolutely love them! I'm a thinker and a feeler, and these prompts seem to strike the balance for me between self-inspection and hope-filled action toward living a fulfilling and vibrant life. 

I'm just starting the process and experience of exploring these prompts, but I thought maybe I'd take my journaling to the online platform for this. One, because I want to share these prompts so others have the chance to participate. Two, because embracing my worth, for me, involves a willingness to share my heart with others (instead of keeping it all locked up in a diary, so to speak). 

I want my words to be less about sharing secrets and more about sharing the sacred. 

PSA - Check out Melissa's website and her PDF for yourself here: https://www.melissamoffet.com/podcast

So, now we can actually start! :)

Here's the first one: 

"What is something you can work on letting go of that has been keeping your energy captive and holding you back?" 

I guarantee you I could answer this completely differently tomorrow, or a week from now, or a year from now. I think that's kinda the point - the answer I give in this moment should become the answer I've outgrown at some point in my future. 

The first thought that came up for me was actually more of a feeling - a little reminder that, yes, I have been feeling a bit bogged down lately. I have been feeling a bit more burdened and fatigued than usual. I've even noticed some of my dreams and passions fog in the mirror of life, still there but awfully hard to make out clearly. I noticed I felt a slight (more than slight?) anxiety about the "pace" at which I'm "figuring out" life, and how long I have to walk this road. But, hey, those quotation marks... I think that's my limiting belief. That's the thing I can let go that's been taking over my attention lately, and holding me back: that I have to figure out life, and that I have to do that at a certain pace or by a certain time. 

I mean, not that this is a *new* belief I've held fast to. It's rather familiar for me to feel "behind" or like I've somehow missed something that everyone else found on their first (or second) try (and here I am humiliated that I haven't found it and that I'm being forced to keep trying, publicly displaying my incompetence at this torturous treasure hunt). 

Yes, I realize that last paragraph is a bit dramatic, but hey, this is my journaling prompt, right? 

Ahem, back to business. 

The belief that I have to figure out life by a certain time in my life holds me back from actually living life, in the present moment. It keeps me from actually appreciating life, because I'm always evaluating it instead, trying to make it do something for me. It's the different between enjoying Christmas because of the environment, traditions, decorations, and connections with loved ones, and loving Christmas because I finally go the toy I wanted. I'll take the former, please. 

"What do you need to do in order to gradually release your grip on this belief, thought, person, or material object?"

Gradually, what a merciful word. Gradually (in other words, a little at a time) is a word filled with such grace, compassion, and understanding of the process. It's not a "quick fix" or a demanding deadline. It's permission to go at your own stride, so long as you at least go. 

Letting go of this belief, gradually, means I may need to sit with why this belief matters to me (holds me captive) in the first place. Letting go means I may have to sit with how my life has detoured from my expectations of it, and if I'm still holding on to those expectations or not, and if I want to turn those expectations into goals, or release them as past ideals. It means, I have to address the guilt and resentment that accompanies the periods of time I am "unproductive" for "too long." It means, I have to actually give my best effort, instead of trying to reserve from so that when I failed I could say, "well, I didn't try my hardest anyway." It means, I have to realize that my life isn't all about me in the first place. Where I live, whom I live with, whether or not I make a lot of money, what I'm doing for a career, and how I choose to spend my free time ARE NOT MY IDENTITY. It means, I have to realize "I am ok" without making a single change. It means, I have to recognize that it's impossible to stay the same, and that I can't hold onto the "shoulds" and unmet expectations of my heart. It means, I have to trust Jesus to actually mean what He says, that I am dearly loved, chosen by Him, and set on this earth for a purpose (even on the days I feel far outside that purpose). It means, I have to embrace my current identity, as a child of God, and acknowledge the strengths and passions He's given me WITHOUT striving ahead of His grace to achieve my own merit through "success" and avoidance of "failure." 

It means a lot of things, but those are a few. 

Thanks for reading

As I write these final words, I want to thank everyone who made it this far, for going on this journey with me. It's a pleasure and an honor each time I realize I'm not alone. 

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