Write It Anyway: 30 Days of Radical Honesty

I said I’d only write these entries when I felt like it—when something tugged at me hard enough to crack open the quiet. So here I am again, lured in by a question that refuses to leave me alone: How do you know when it’s time to let go? I didn’t plan to write about this one. I thought I already had. But apparently, I’m still learning (and learning and learning) how to answer it. This entry is for the part of me that holds on too tightly, the part that always thinks maybe—just maybe—it’ll be different this time. Spoiler: it never is. So here’s what I know today. Here’s what I’m whispering to myself, soft and shaky and hopeful: next time, let go before it bleeds.

Today marks the final entry of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge. This month has been a deep excavation—a brave, sometimes painful, sometimes beautiful walk through the rawest corners of my heart. For Day 30, I reflected on what I will no longer carry into the rest of my life. This entry is about release. About burying the dead weight of expectations, of heartbreak, of clinging to love that was never returned. It's about walking forward lighter, freer, and finally on my own terms. Thank you for walking beside me on this journey—through every truth, every ache, every triumph.

Sometimes the dreams closest to our hearts feel almost too tender to say out loud. For Day 29 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I’m giving voice to one of mine. This entry is about my deepest hope—to write, to be read, to create words that make people feel seen and held—and to build a community where other writers can feel that too. It might sound bold, it might sound a little impossible, but every beautiful thing once began as a dream whispered into the dark. And this is mine.

Sometimes, what we have to lose in order to find ourselves isn’t a place or a thing—it’s a person we once believed we couldn’t live without. For Day 28 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I reflected on the freedom that came when I finally let go of someone whose approval I had chased for far too long. This entry is about reclaiming my voice, my dreams, and my future. It’s about the wild, unexpected beauty of discovering that everything I needed was already inside me—and that losing them was the beginning of finding myself.

There’s a quiet kind of strength in knowing you’re the same person in the dark as you are in the light. For Day 27 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I reflected on the promise I made to myself long ago—to live in a way that I could be proud of, even when no one else was watching. This entry is about the quiet integrity of being real, being consistent, and being someone I can sit with when the world falls silent. If you’ve ever fought to stay true to yourself, this one is for you.

Healing isn’t always loud or obvious. Sometimes it arrives quietly—like a breath you didn’t know you were holding, finally released. For Day 26 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I reflected on what healing actually feels like—in my body, in my soul, in my life. This entry isn’t a triumphant finish line—it’s a soft, honest recognition of what it means to care for yourself, to carry contradiction, and to choose presence. If you’ve ever wondered whether you’re healing right, I hope this reminds you: you are, simply because you’re still here.

There comes a moment when fear loses its grip—and something unshakable rises in its place. For Day 25 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote about what I’d say if I weren’t afraid of being judged… and the truth is, I’m not anymore. After everything I’ve walked through this past year, I no longer shrink for comfort or contort for approval. This entry is a declaration—of belief, of clarity, of being proudly and powerfully woke. Because standing for justice, equity, and autonomy is not radical. It’s human. And I will never apologise for that.

There are still places where I find myself shrinking—where I wait for someone else to make it safe for me to speak, to say no, to take up space. For Day 24 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I’m reflecting on how that shows up in my friendships. This entry is about the discomfort of setting boundaries, the heartbreak of feeling taken for granted, and the slow, steady work of learning to advocate for myself. If you’ve ever felt small in spaces meant to feel safe, I hope these words remind you that your needs matter too.

Some of the hardest truths to admit are the ones that show us how much time we spent trying to belong somewhere we never wanted to be. For Day 23 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I reflected on a relationship from my early twenties that I stayed in far too long—not because I was in love, but because I didn’t believe I deserved better. This entry is about reclaiming that time, honouring the lessons learned, and recognizing the quiet power of no longer orbiting around someone else. If you’ve ever outgrown a version of yourself shaped by fear, this one’s for you.

Sometimes, the hardest truth to face is the one that speaks to our strength. For Day 22 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote about what it would mean to be fully honest with myself—and realized it would mean finally acknowledging my own bigness. My capability. My accomplishments. This entry is about the quiet fear of stepping fully into my power, and the freedom that comes from no longer dimming the light I’ve worked so hard to build. If you’ve ever been afraid of your own brilliance, this one is for you.

Power doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it looks like quiet persistence—the choice to keep going, keep growing, keep showing up even when it’s hard. For Day 21 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I reflected on the moments that make me feel powerful and the ones that make me feel small. This entry is about how deeply I care, how fiercely I try, and how my greatest strength often lies in my willingness to reflect, repair, and rise. If you’ve ever set an impossibly high standard for yourself and still found the courage to reach for it, this one’s for you.

There are some things in our past we can make peace with. Others we spend our lives trying to outrun—not out of fear, but out of self-preservation. For Day 20 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote about a person who carved themselves into my story without permission, and who continues to try and worm their way back in. This entry is a boundary. A line in the sand. A refusal to offer space to someone who never deserved it. If you’ve ever had to protect your peace from someone convinced they’re entitled to it, this one’s for you.

For a long time, I longed to be chosen by people who never truly saw me. I waited. I tried. I made myself small in the hope that it would make me more lovable, more acceptable—more enough. But for Day 19 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I’m writing about what it feels like to finally stop waiting. This entry is about no longer chasing scraps from places that couldn’t hold me, and the unexpected joy that’s come from choosing myself. Since that shift, the words haven’t stopped flowing—and neither has the freedom.

Sometimes, the body remembers what the mind works tirelessly to forget. For Day 18 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote about the way my body still responds to tension—to raised voices, slammed cupboards, heavy footsteps. This entry explores the quiet, instinctive fear that lingers long after the storm has passed, and how growing up in chaos taught me to anticipate danger before it arrived. It’s about learning to feel safe again—slowly, patiently—and reminding my body that it doesn’t have to brace anymore. Not like it used to.

Some grief doesn’t arrive all at once. It seeps in slowly—woven into the spaces between memories, lingering in the warmth of what once was. For Day 17 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote about the kind of grief no one can see: the quiet ache of losing connection to my extended family in Ontario. This entry is a love letter to childhood summers, to the laughter and lake water, to barefoot gravel walks and worm castles. It’s about time, and distance, and the bittersweet way memory keeps love alive—even when everything else has changed.

For me, freedom has always lived inside my imagination. On Day 16 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote about what freedom really feels like—and the quiet, frustrating ways I still feel caged. This entry is about chasing stories, about writing as liberation, and about the ache that comes when the body and the world can’t keep up with the heart. It’s about the longing to pause time, to write uninterrupted, and to live fully inside the places I create. If you’ve ever felt like your truest freedom comes from the world within you, I hope this entry speaks to you.

Some questions don’t come with clean answers—only echoes. For Day 15 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I asked myself who I was before the world told me who I should be… and I realized, I don’t know. I never got the chance to find out. This entry is a heartbreakingly honest reflection on a girlhood that felt more like survival than discovery, and the pride I carry now—not because of the pain, but in spite of it. I may not know who I was, but I know who I am now. And I have never been prouder.

For so long, I convinced myself that practicality was the only path worth walking. I buried my dreams beneath stability, structure, and the safety of what made sense. But for Day 14 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I unearthed the quiet truth I’ve been carrying: I’m ready to build something wild. With the sale of our business on the horizon, we’re stepping into a new chapter—one rooted not in survival, but in soul. This entry is a love letter to the dreams I left waiting, and the fire that comes from finally saying now.

Being seen—truly seen—isn’t about attention or applause. It’s about feeling understood without needing to explain, about being met exactly where you are with tenderness instead of expectation. For Day 13 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote about a quiet, powerful moment with my husband that reminded me what it feels like to be fully seen. No fixing. No performance. Just presence. This entry is a love letter to the kind of connection that doesn’t ask you to change, but instead offers you space to simply be.

Home hasn’t always been a safe word for me. For Day 12 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I returned to something I wrote as a child—words that echoed a grief far too heavy for someone so young: “I want to go home, but I am home.” This entry is about what it means to feel lost in the place you’re supposed to feel safest, and the long, slow journey of redefining home from the inside out. It’s about survival, resilience, love, and the miracle of building something better. If you’ve ever had to create home from scratch, I hope this one wraps around you like warmth.

Some stories are easier to tell in metaphor. Some pain is too raw, too heavy, too sacred to lay bare—and yet it still needs somewhere to go. For Day 11 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote about something I survived that few people know about. I haven’t named it. I don’t need to. The body remembers. The silence remembers. This entry is for anyone who has ever endured something in the presence of people who should have protected them. For anyone still scrubbing skin that remembers too much. You are not alone.

Forgiveness is rarely loud. More often, it’s quiet and aching, showing up in the way we soften toward the past versions of ourselves—the ones who were just trying to survive. For Day 10 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote about what it means to forgive myself—for the striving, the shrinking, the relentless pressure to be more, do more, prove more. This entry is about letting go of the life I thought I should have lived and embracing the beauty of the one I’ve built. If you’ve ever struggled to feel like you’re enough, I hope this reminds you that where you are might just be exactly where you’re meant to be.

For most of my life, I’ve written my way through pain—through survival, struggle, heartbreak, and rebuilding. But for Day 9 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I sat with a new and unfamiliar fear: what if everything turns out okay? What if I get everything I’ve ever wanted—my writing, my peace, my quiet, beautiful life—and I no longer have to run? This entry is about the part of my story I’ve avoided not because it’s too painful, but because it’s too possible. It’s about cracking open the spine of a new chapter: one written in joy.

Love has never been neat for me—it’s been vast, complicated, and at times, utterly devastating. But it’s also been the most transformative force of my life. For Day 8 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote about how love has broken me open, rebuilt me in softer and stronger ways, and ultimately redefined who I am. From learning to love at a distance, to embracing the danger and beauty of vulnerability, to finding my home in another human being—this entry is for anyone who’s ever kept their heart open even when it hurt to do so.

There’s something unspeakably powerful about writing to the version of yourself who needed love the most. For Day 7 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I wrote to the little girl I used to be—the one who felt invisible, unworthy, and broken far too soon. This entry is a whisper through time, a gentle hand on her back, a reminder that everything she’s enduring will one day become the fire she rises from. If you’ve ever longed to go back and hold your younger self through the worst of it, this one is for you.

Some truths arrive as whispers long before we know how to name them. For Day 6 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I sat with one of the hardest questions so far: When did I first feel like I wasn’t enough? This entry is about how that belief didn’t have a beginning—it was just always there, like wallpaper I never thought to peel back. It’s also about the quiet reclamation that happens when you start speaking love into the wounds others gave you. If you’ve ever felt small in places where you should’ve been safe, this one is for you.

This one’s for an old friend—the kind who knew me before I fully knew myself. For Day 5 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I’m writing to Carolyn, who lives halfway across the country and holds an irreplaceable piece of my heart. It’s about the ache of distance, the beauty of connection that defies time, and the things I’d say if we were sitting across from one another, coffee in hand, candy nearby, picking up a conversation that never really ended. If you’ve ever missed someone with your whole soul, I hope this resonates.

This entry was hard to write—not because I don’t know my worth, but because sometimes the truth lives in the quiet spaces just behind all the accomplishments. Day 4 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge asked me to name a truth I’ve never said out loud. And here it is: I’ve done so much. I’m deeply, truly proud of all of it. But a part of me still wonders if it will ever feel like enough. This piece is a reckoning with that restlessness—and a celebration of the fire that keeps me moving forward, not because I need to prove anything, but because creating is how I breathe.

This entry is an excavation. Shame doesn’t just live in our minds—it settles into the crevices of our bodies, shaping how we carry ourselves and how we see ourselves. For Day 3 of the 30 Days of Radical Honesty Journalling Challenge, I asked myself where I carry that shame—and what it’s still trying to tell me. What followed was a powerful reckoning with the stories I’ve internalized, the contortions I’ve made for acceptance, and the gentle, growing defiance of reclaiming my space. This one is raw, reflective, and for anyone learning to stand tall again.

This entry takes me all the way back to a moment that quietly altered the course of my life. A moment where I learned, not through comfort but through clarity, that effort is everything. It’s about baton twirling, yes—but more than that, it’s about what happens when someone you love chooses truth over easy consolation. This is the story of a lesson that planted the roots of my work ethic, my grit, and the stubborn fire that’s fuelled everything I’ve created since. If you’ve ever had a moment that shaped who you are in ways you’re still discovering, I think this one might resonate.