what I learned from burning 6 years' worth of journals (part 2)

5 real-life takeaways that will light a fire under your butt

Be sure to read part 1 if you haven’t yet. It shares the backstory of this process and all that led up to it. Enjoy — then come back and enjoy this one too. :)

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Because I don’t consider time to be linear, I believe all timelines are happening at once. "Past lives" exist at the same time as present and future lives. 

I believe the intuition we feel in any given moment can be our “future” self sending messages "back" to us — similar to how one’s past self, intentionally or unintentionally, leaves messages for our future self to find.

When I read through my journals in preparation for the Great Burning of 2024, both happened.

It was like my past self created a crystal clear map, filled with directions to follow and notes to encourage along the way. Except, she didn’t deliver it in a step-by-step process that I would slowly uncover over time. She delivered it in one big DUMP. One that took her 6~ years to create.

A 24-hour adventure back through time.

I began reading through all the journals one evening, prepped and ready to go. I really didn’t know what to expect, but whatever was ahead, I was prepared for it.

So I smudged everything and headed outside.

Opening the journal from 2018 was different this time.

Instead of getting caught up and triggered by what I was reading, I felt calm and collected — like an observer whose only purpose was to witness. I was able to read everything in a very matter-of-fact way, without activation or sadness.

As I shared in part 1, what struck me immediately was how much I had forgotten. But I don’t just mean with the first journal — I felt this with every single one.

Forgetting is a beautiful and necessary part of life.

Sometimes, it’s by forgetting that we can heal and move on. Without constant reminders of past unpleasantries, we can redirect our focus on the life we want to create, and then take steps to make it happen.

But sometimes, it’s by remembering that we can heal, too. There was something profound about dipping back into the past and fully revisiting these memories, except this time without the emotional charge. My intention was not to relive everything but to process it with self-compassion. It was time to have a corrective experience and close the trauma loop.

I remained grounded as the older/higher/wiser self and did Inner Child Work the entire time. Whatever my younger self needed, I gave it to her.

How did I know what she needed? Oh, trust me, she wrote pages and pages of it.

Truthfully, she just needed to be seen, heard, and understood. But most of the work back then was personal and internal, and as a result, it often went unknown and unnoticed by others. I say this not to draw pity, but to share honestly that, at times, it felt quite lonely. Even with support systems in place, a fair amount of inner work was not shared with others.

I’m afraid that sometimes you’ll play lonely games too

Games you can’t win

Cause you’ll play against you.

-Dr. Seuss

This is not a bad thing by any means, especially for an introvert who loves her solitude.

But so much healing comes from sharing in a safe container with a safe person. You know that the other person has your back. You know the other person cherishes what you tell them because they cherish you.

And now, my younger self could receive all that safety, cherishing, and closure in someone’s full presence — by 2024 me. <3

Notice that.

This is a phrase my therapist says during EMDR sessions. I’ve incorporated it into many areas of my life because it constantly reminds me to be present. I don’t have to fix it or analyze it—I just have to notice.

So that’s what I did with my younger self as I read through her words.

I watched her life unfold without judgment or regret. Knowing what was ahead as she made certain decisions was bittersweet, but watching her boldness and fire made me proud. Plenty of times, I burst out laughing at her feisty attitude.

In a matter of 24 hours, I read through 23 journals. I took regular breaks, nourished myself with food and water, walked, and stimulated the vagus nerve by humming or vocalizing. I shook my body, yawned often, and stretched whenever I felt like it.

By nightfall, it was time for the next step.

To ashes.

In the evening, I burned them all in the fire pit in my backyard, staying fully present and setting the intention to release all remaining energy attached to the stories they carried. I blessed each one before tossing it into the flames, expressing gratitude for the woman who wrote it, her journey, and all the lessons learned.

Afterward, I sat on my back patio, light as a feather. I felt emptied out and cleansed in the best way possible.

As I basked, I realized something was happening. I quite literally felt my heart expanding and opening wider with each breath I took. But not only that — words, ideas, and insight poured in, craving to be written, pushing me toward my laptop.

I opened up a blank document and began to write as fast as I could to catch it all.

Once I began to type, I couldn’t stop.

It was safe to say the writer’s block I’d experienced for months had also been eviscerated in the fire.

(Can I get a hell yeah? Woohoo!)

I wrote until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, and I finally collapsed into bed, complete and satisfied.

Needless to say, this process was transformational.

I want to share my 5 biggest takeaways from it. You’ll find them in the rest of the post below, exclusively for subscribers.

These 5 takeaways have taught me so much and continue to embed into the depths of my heart the more I integrate them into my life.

I hope they do the same for you too.