Lines Between Living

The past few days have been an exercise in honesty.

Not the kind that demands confession, but the kind that asks for consistency. I’ve been paying attention to how this practice feels as I try to show up every day not perfectly, just deliberately.

It’s been a bit easier lately, but only in moments.

Small ones. Quiet ones. And I’m learning not to dismiss those anymore.

The real challenge hasn’t been whether I can write. It’s been committing to it. I know what I want by the end of this year, and I know that wanting something doesn’t move it any closer. Commitment does.

That’s where journal therapy comes in for me. Not as a trend or an aesthetic, but as accountability. As a way of telling myself the truth when no one else is asking for it.

These past two days, I’ve shared how I use journaling to stay honest with myself. This is the next layer: commitment. I’ve kept it simple on purpose  mone sentence a day. One memorable moment. Nothing poetic. Nothing curated. Just proof that I was present.

December was scattered. I won’t pretend otherwise. But I didn’t quit. I found my way back.

This month, with the new year beginning, my children traveling, birthdays passing through, it’s been easier to notice the moments worth recording.

This isn’t about perfection.

It’s about showing up anyway.

One sentence a day is how I keep my word to myself.