Journaling in July

This summer, I joined a 40-day creative portal. My goals were to finish my card deck, write in my journal for 20 minutes every day, and complete four blogs.

I finished my card deck, I filled every single page of my notebook. (Woohoo!) and I started three blogs (but didn’t finish them wah wah wah). So yeah, I didn’t cross every t or dot every i—literally or figuratively—and, as it turns out, taking on a 40-day challenge during the summer didn’t always feel like the most brilliant move. But it did help me stay committed to my writing practice, and I’m so grateful I did.

Most mornings, I pulled a card from my new deck and let it lead me to the page. Sometimes I just sat on my deck and read ha ha ha. The piece below grew out of one of those journal entries. It is a letter from my wiser self to the part of me that gets in my own way.

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Dear Sweet Child of Self-Sabotage,

Ahhh. It’s you again.

You showed up within hours, no, possibly minutes, of finishing your card deck. You know, the project you’ve been talking about (on again, off again, finally on again!) for over a year.

Before you closed your eyes last night, you held it all: the pride of completion, the knowingness there would be more to do (it’s never over till it’s over), and the excitement and relief that you could focus on your kids who will be here this last week with you and Duncan in Maine.

But then something inside of you snapped.

Did they make it to the airport?? Will they make their connection!!? Are they going to be okay???!!! And what if they are not???

Oh what an Anxious Elf you are. (I know, I know, you love that movie.😂)

You’ve been sharing with the fam that you don’t want to be that kind of Mom—the one who deals with her own anxiety by trying to fix, worry, and do for. So what’s up, my dear? Why did you walk off that familiar old plank into a sea of anxious mothering?

Which is of course the exact opposite of how cold water dipping in the ocean makes you feel. Channel that Katherine–the one who finds her calm, joy, and abundance at the start of every day.

Although, I heard you try to soothe yourself. I watched as you lovingly rubbed the magnesium lotion into the backs of your knees saying to yourself, “Trust. Just trust, Katherine.” You were trying! You even stopped checking the flight status, turned off the light and slept seven hours…

…Until you woke up and remembered the kids would be landing soon.

Instead of checking your phone, you reached down to get the MacBook and pulled it into bed. Did you hear a snap? A pull? I think I did too. Right where your bicep meets your pec. Isn’t that somehow attached to your heart?

Sweet Girl, I can’t help noticing what happens when you complete something.

It’s as if the moment is, well, so momentary. You barely give yourself a chance to feel satisfied before you find something else to worry about.

But then again, here you are, sitting on the deck, writing this morning, hearing from me: Your wiser self.

You picked up your pen. You drew this card. And you laughed out loud.

I know you were asked to write a letter to that part of you who gets in her own way (Dear Sweet Child of Self-Sabotage) but I think you’re more of a Sweet Child of Creative Expression.

Because now that it’s done (well, you need to find a printer:) you’re going to need to put yourself out there. Share what you’ve created. Believe that what came through you might actually matter to someone else.

Creating something and putting it into the world is vulnerable. And there’s no better way to escape that vulnerability than to worry about your kids or obsess about the ache du jour because it takes you away from yourself.

But don’t forget! You created a way for people to turn inward. You’ve learned that you can write yourself through anything.

Look at you??!! (Yes another Elf reference:)) Pen in hand. Heart on sleeve. Creating yourself with every word.

Because what we create creates us. And now you get to share that practice with others.

I’m so, so proud of you. (And I know you are, too.)

So before you rush off to start the next thing, before you worry about the kids, or the launch, or whether anyone will buy it, or what you need to do next, thank you for practicing what you are inviting others to do:

Slow down. Look within. Show up more deeply to the page—and more fully to life.