Growing up I never bought a diary or journal for myself, but I did receive a few as gifts. Flowers and butterflies in a variety of colors decorated the hardback cover and the inside pages. The paper was soft and inviting. When I ran my hand over it I felt the urge to write.
It was ready to hold all my stories, fears, worries, crushes, pet peeves, joys, discoveries, hopes, and dreams. With my favorite well-chewed pen, I was ready to document my life!
But I could never make myself write in it. Continue reading “My Fear of Journaling”