Giving Yourself Permission to Believe Your Own Story

If Your Heart Could Speak, What Would It Say?

There was a time in my life when I didn’t know what I was feeling. I knew I was hurt. I knew I was tired. I knew I was surviving. But if you had asked me to put words to the chaos inside, I wouldn’t have known where to start.

Maybe you’ve been there too—where emotions feel tangled, and silence is easier than trying to make sense of it all. But healing doesn’t happen in silence. It happens when we start listening to what’s inside us. And one of the most powerful ways to do that? Journaling.

Not the “Dear Diary” kind. Not the “Let’s make this look pretty” kind. The raw, messy, honest kind—the kind that creates space for healing.

The Shelf of Empty Journals

I used to have a thing for journals (Ok, I still do). Not just any journals—beautiful ones. Leather-bound, gilded pages, covers embossed with intricate patterns or inspiring quotes, crisp Tomoe River Paper and loops for expensive fountain pens. Every time I walked into a bookstore, I was drawn to them like a moth to a flame.

And so, I “collected” them. Stacked them neatly on a shelf. Each one waiting for something worthy to be written inside.

But that was the problem—I never wrote in them.

Every time I opened one, I froze. I couldn’t bring myself to mark the pristine pages with my messy thoughts. What if my words weren’t good enough? What if I ruined it? What if I looked back later and thought, That was stupid?

So they stayed empty. And I stayed silent.

It took me years to realize that my problem wasn’t that I had nothing to say—it was that I didn’t believe my words were worth writing.

And then, I remembered David.

When Honesty is the Best Offering

If anyone knew about raw, unfiltered writing, it was David.

The Psalms are some of the most brutally honest writings in Scripture. David didn’t sit down and write polished theological essays with perfectly structured sentences. He wrote gut-level prayers. He wrote when he was joyful, and he wrote when he was furious. He wrote about God’s goodness, but he also wrote about feeling abandoned.

• “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1)
• “Why, Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” (Psalm 10:1)
• “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1)

And that last one? That was the very cry Jesus chose to utter from the cross.

In His darkest moment, Jesus didn’t choose a triumphant declaration. He didn’t offer a theological discourse. He cried out the words of a broken man who felt abandoned. Because He knew what it was to suffer. And He knew that sometimes, the deepest act of faith isn’t pretending to be okay—it’s crying out to God, even when you feel like He’s far away.

David’s words weren’t just raw—they were real. They were full of doubt, fear, and pain. And yet, they became scripture. Sacred. Holy.

If David’s unfiltered, emotional honesty was worthy of being in the Bible—and if Jesus Himself spoke those words in His suffering—then maybe our raw, unfiltered words are worthy of being written too.

Giving Your Silence a Voice

There’s a difference between talking to yourself and letting yourself talk.

Talking to yourself is what we do when we try to rationalize our feelings, when we coach ourselves into suppressing pain, when we shove emotions down with phrases like, “I shouldn’t feel this way,” or “This isn’t a big deal.”

But letting yourself talk? That’s an entirely different thing.

Journaling isn’t about making up a story. It’s about uncovering the story that’s already there. It’s about giving voice to the parts of you that have been silenced—by trauma, by fear, by the belief that your pain isn’t worth speaking.

It’s easy to go through life keeping the deepest parts of ourselves locked away. Pain has a way of going underground, becoming quiet, invisible. But just because it’s silent doesn’t mean it’s gone. And sooner or later, it will find a way out—through anxiety, through exhaustion, through triggers and patterns we don’t even understand.

That’s why journaling matters. It gives those unspoken parts a safe place to be heard.

Not edited. Not polished. Not analyzed. Just heard.

Silencing the Inner Critic: This Isn’t a Novel, It’s a Lifeline

Let’s talk about that voice in your head for a second—the one that whispers (or shouts), “This sounds dumb,” or “You’re not writing this right.” The one that makes you pause before finishing a sentence because it’s not good enough.

That voice? It’s not invited here.

Journaling isn’t about writing a literary masterpiece. It’s not about punctuation, eloquence, or sounding wise. It’s about honesty. It’s about giving your soul permission to be heard, unfiltered and unpolished.

Healing isn’t found in crafting the perfect sentence—it’s found in the raw, untidy words you’re almost too afraid to write.

I encourage you to give that voice a name. Imagine what they look like, listen to how they sound. Now when you begin to write begin by having a conversation with them. It might go something like:

“Listen, you are important to my self-esteem. You keep me from embarrassing myself and you protect me in social situations but, I need you to take a break for a little bit and let me do this myself. I know you’re going to want to jump in and dull the sharp edges of my words and polish my language but I don’t need that right now. Thanks for your help.”

So, let yourself be messy. Write badly. Spell things wrong. Cross words out. Scribble emotions that don’t even make sense yet. This isn’t a writing exercise—it’s a healing exercise. And healing doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from showing up.

Journaling as a Rhythm, Not a Fix

When we’ve been wounded, it’s easy to look for quick fixes. “If I just do this, I’ll be better.” But healing is not a one-time event; it’s a rhythm. It’s not about having one deep journaling session where you spill your guts and walk away fixed. It’s about showing up again and again, even when you don’t feel like it.

Think of it like breathing. You don’t take one deep breath and say, “Okay, I’m good for the day.” No—you inhale, you exhale. Over and over. Journaling is the same. It’s not about writing the perfect entry or solving everything in one sitting. It’s about creating a steady rhythm of reflection and release.

Your Story Is Worth Writing

Maybe no one ever told you this before, but your story matters. Your thoughts, your emotions, your healing—it all matters. And sometimes, the first step in believing that for yourself is simply writing it down.

So, grab a notebook. Open a blank page. And begin. Not because you have it all figured out, but because healing starts with listening—and your heart has a story to tell.

And if you only have a fancy, leather-bound journal sitting on a shelf collecting dust? Crack it open. Let the first words be messy. Let them be imperfect. Let them be.

Because no journal, no matter how beautiful, is worth more than your voice.

And if Jesus Himself chose to cry out David’s words in His moment of suffering—if He, the Son of God, gave voice to the rawest human emotions—then maybe you don’t have to hold yours back either.

Write them down. Cry them out. Let them be heard.

Healing begins when silence is broken.