This one was hard to write. Not because I didn’t know the answer—but because I did. I know exactly how I speak to myself when I’m hurting, and it’s not gentle. It’s not kind. But it’s honest. And that’s what The Journaling Muse is all about: answering honestly, even when the truth stings. This is the kind of entry I would have avoided in the past. Now, I face it. Because this is the work. Because I deserve to tell the truth about how far I’ve come—and how hard it still is sometimes. 💚

Some lessons arrive softly. Others land like thunder. This one was the latter. From an early age, I understood—on some quiet, cellular level—that I was the one person who would have to live with every choice I made. That awareness shaped me. It led me to start collecting guiding principles like puzzle pieces, piecing together the kind of person I wanted to be. Today’s entry is a thank-you to that younger version of me—the girl who noticed, who listened, who decided that being someone she could be proud of mattered more than being liked, more than being perfect, more than being safe. I owe her everything.

Every morning on Instagram, I share a new journal prompt through The Journal Muse—a quiet invitation to pause, reflect, and write your way through whatever you’re carrying. These prompts are my way of holding space for the questions that matter, the ones we often don’t make time to ask ourselves. At the end of each month, I gather all the prompts into a free PDF so you can revisit them whenever you need to. Today’s prompt felt especially personal, so I decided to share my own response below. Because sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is put it all on the page.

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.