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.

This is the first prompt in my 30 Days of Radical Honesty journalling challenge, and I couldn’t imagine a more fitting place to begin. Grief is love with nowhere to go, and this entry is for the one who still holds so much of my heart. I wrote this not just as an act of remembrance, but as a way of honouring a bond that shaped me, comforted me, and kept me tethered to this world in my earliest and most fragile years. If you’ve ever loved and lost an animal who felt more like soul than pet, this one is for you.