31 days of journaling

31 days of journaling

Dear Daddy,

Thank you for today. I am grateful for a new day. I have always wondered God, do you see all the lights people shine on New Year’s Eve?

This is the first statement on my journal. These are the first words I tell God in 2020. People are giving God their wish list  and all I care about is whether or not God sees the beautiful and some hideous lights that people have for the holidays. Speaking of which,  if your holidays lights are still up, I am not judging you. Do what you have to for your joy.

I have always journaled in my life. Joy, sadness, anxiety. panic, fear and every other human emotion I have experienced has been jotted down on paper. As a way to have a new slate, I burned all my journals before I left my country for this land which quite honestly I am trying to understand.

This time it feels different because I am desperate to heal and move on with my life. Living with trauma can trick into thinking walking with a burden on your shoulders is normal. At 25 that burden began to hurt my back. Two years later, I am done. I need my shoulders back to wear cute off shoulder tops and hoist beautiful neck pieces. To hold my head high as I occupy my space in this world.

One of the reasons I came to grad school is for the structure. I needed structure in my life. Dependable rhythm that does not tramp me but builds me instead. Previously, I have had  a punitive structure that demanded obedience and yielded fear that bred mediocre results. I fought through every battle, stood up for truth and my ass was tired. I was once seated on my desk and made a prayer to God.

      Hey Daddy,

         This is one of the days where I come in for a favor. I am tired. My mind, body and soul are shattered. I feel like no one sees or hears me. There is too much noise. Take me to a small town like the one on Cedar Cove where it is quiet and I can hear myself. Where I can hear you when you speak. Peace that surpasses all human understanding. I want that and claim it.

I write my first journal in the quite streets in the calm Atlanta. In a few days I will be back in my small town. It must be the village girl in me that craves the peace of a small town. Our town is within the campus and everything else is two miles away. I know all the bus drivers. There are two bakeries around me and farmer’s market happens once a week. That kind of small town.

The A type personality in me panics over being still. What happens to my blossoming media career in Kenya? I had a chance to go mainstream in five years at most. There was a plan. I like roadmaps. The trajectory of my life had always been promising with little delivery. For a decade I have tried with limited progress. Taking a step back cannot hurt me.

And so I sit still. I listen to myself more and to God. He speaks all the time about everything. It feels great for me and him to have movie references in prayers level of friendship. He sees me. I see me. I stand at the mirror, naked on most days and see me. No negative thoughts. No tear down. Just being.

I journal for 31 days. In this time I have forgiven myself for the hurting me. For continuously picking at my nails when I am nervous. How do I stop this?For the negativity I spoke on my life. I write my fear of robots taking over my career contradicting every affirmation my soul gives me. I write my desires for life. The midwestern hunk makes for a couple pages. Prayers make up the bulk of it.

My blue journal is peppered with colorful notecards with verses in the bible. How God feels about me, boundaries, the world, natural disasters and my daily routine. He is interested in all that pertains me. I write in pencil, pen and sharpie. I write truthfully bearing it all for self and God.

I turn ugly on its head and face it. I wail on some days and smile on most nights. Free with each word. Surprised by why I did not do this before. It begins gloomy and suddenly rays of sun that turn into a Saturday morning glare of hope. I feel heard. Seen. This is day 31.

To cap it off, a phone call where I plant seeds of forgiveness. Rewriting the story I fed myself so that I could sleep better. Trauma can do that to you. Twist storylines to fit your narrative. He listens and I watch pellets of freedom creep into his eyes. Relief he never knew he needed. I promised to not write about this so I will end this here out of respect for him. Also its 11:12pm and I need to journal for today.

I am using this platform for my daily journaling, devotion and guide. Feel free to use it or look up one that fits you best.

Keep writing.


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