I never saw the benefit in journaling.

      I spent my childhood writing, but it was always fiction. I would crinkle my nose when people suggested writing non-fiction. I thought: what would I even write about? Why would anyone want to read that?

       I didn't like the idea of having something that would resemble a diary. I was already worried about people stumbling on my fictional stories. So, the idea of writing down my most vulnerable thoughts? Zero appeal.

      I started journaling without the intention of even doing so.

      It was the summer after my first year of University. It was a rough year. On top on my ongoing insecurities from childhood, I faced burdensome workloads as I tried to juggle nursing school, work and my social life.

      When I had a week off that summer, and my parents didn't, I decided to spend the week at camp. We used to only spend the weekend, but I thought the week would make for a nice vacation. It was nice. For the most part, I had a great time.

      I sat beneath the warm sun. I went kayaking. I sat by the fire... I was content.

      But after a few days, alone in the camper at night, I had nothing to distract myself from the thoughts I tried to deny. Being alone also presented to opportunity to cry freely. There was no one to see.

      And cry I did. Amidst a late night emotional breakdown, and always having a notebook in reach, I wrote every negative thought and insecurity that grazed my thoughts in that moment. I wanted to get them all out. I was tired of ignoring them, only for them to make a full attack in my weakest moments (Please note the italicization of the word).

      I don't know if I ever cried as much as I did that night. I was overwhelmed with emotions. Anger. Sadness. Despair. Loneliness. Self-hatred. Frustration...

      But when I reread those words the next day, they didn't come with the same anger and devastation, they came with empathy. They came with the burning urge to show myself more kindness. They came with the knowledge that I deserved better; that the cruel words I saved for myself weren't truly representative.

      That night, I sat down and wrote the reason that the words I had written were wrong. I sought to find the positive in the qualities I deemed faults.

      It was only months later, that I realized that that moment was the catalyst to my healing journey.

       Those first few days were rough. Those first few weeks were rough, because even though I was gradually starting to feel better, those old thoughts found a way to slip back in. Truthfully, they still occasionally slip back in, but it occurs much less frequently, and I now have an awareness to identify and repel those thoughts.

      Think of the scraped knees you got as child after falling off your bike (maybe this didn't happen as often to you, as it did me). Those scrapes may have looked insignificant, but they sure didn't feel like it. They burned like hell. And they burned even more when your mom cleansed the little pebbles from your wound with alcohol.

      Maybe like the steps your avoiding, you scrambled away from the bottle of alcohol. But would your wound have healed properly with the pebbles still intact? Would the wound have become more likely to become infected?

      Maybe you tried to put on a brave face. Maybe you thought you succeeded; only seconds away from running off with a bandaid, but then your mother regarded you with the softest eyes and asked if you were alright. Your facade crumbled.

      Sometimes the admission hurst just as much as the injury, but anything that requires healing is going to hurt first. There's no going around it. Because you wouldn't need to heal, otherwise.

      Maybe you think writing your emotions down is sappy. Maybe you think its a waste of time. Maybe you think asking for help is a sign of weakness.

      I personally think, asking for help is immense proof of courage and self-love.

      I wish I would have started journaling sooner.

      I wish I would have considered therapy as a child, because I see now that I could have benefitted from it.

      I spent so many years enduring unnecessary pain.

      Journaling may not be for everyone, but there are multiple other ways you can acknowledge your real feelings.

      Maybe you think it's better to keep pushing them away. To distract yourself every time your insecurities rise. To pretend the cruel words in your mind don't affect you.

      Maybe you're afraid to take those steps, because you know that to admit to all those feelings you're trying to hide, is likely to result in an emotional breakdown. You hate crying. You hate asking for help. You want to avoid these steps at all costs.

      Imagine if you broke your leg, and you didn't want to admit to your doctor that you needed help. You didn't want to be slowed by crutches for a few months. So, instead you limped along your day, and swallowed the tears from the ache and the extra effort now required to do simple things.

      Nobody would judge you for seeking to repair your broken leg. Nobody would judge you for taking that first step towards healing; making way for the emergency room (please don't actually walk on a broken leg. I very much mean metaphorical steps).

      Even if they hurt at first, you need to take those first steps to heal.

      Big or small. In heels or barefoot. No matter how different it may look from your peers. Take that step. I promise that it'll be worth it.