The Secret Journal of a Girl

Earlier today felt like a breath of fresh air. I woke up determined, ready to be consistent with my JavaScript learning.

The spark was there, you know that kind of energy that makes you believe again? That was literally me this morning!

I realized I hadn’t even set clear goals for the second half of the year. So I did. I put pen to paper, hopeful that the rest of 2025 would be better. And truth be told, today was incredibly productive, the kind of day that makes you smile quietly at yourself.

But as the sun began to set, a strange heaviness crept in.

Yes, the sky grew darker, and somehow, so did my heart. It felt like a dark cloud had settled over me. Without even a little warning, my past came knocking and it loud, so uninvited.

Memories I thought I had buried came rushing in like a flood. Painful ones. The kind that steals your essence.

It all started when I was just 8 years old (12 years ago). Most children at that age were innocent and free, but my childhood was stolen, replaced by the weight of a nightmare no child should bear.

Tonight, as I listened to my parents talk after a similar incident that tested the water yesterday, which gripped me a fear I haven't had in years, unknowingly revealing truths wrapped in bitterness.

I realized something: I had been through more than I ever admitted. More than even my twin. And yet, I kept it all inside.

They say, “The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.”

I may forget the details, but my body remembers. My soul remembers. The scars may not be visible, but they still ache and softly kills my esteems.

Two days from my past never left me. I never told a soul. I carried the pain like a silent companion. Bottled it up. Smiled through it. Moved on like nothing happened. But tonight, something cracked.

Maybe it was the sermon I heard at church earlier. The message was about letting go, releasing deep-rooted pain and bitterness.

“No matter how long the night, the day will surely break,” the preacher said.

And maybe, just maybe, I’m finally ready to believe that. Even after I cried.

I’ve come to realize how strong I truly am.

They say, “Even the lion has scars from battles we never saw.”

And now I see, I’m not weak because I was wounded; I’m strong because I survived.

Yes, the scars are still there. But scars don’t mean broken, they mean healed.

Tonight, I am choosing to breathe.

To let go.

To make space for joy.

Because the girl I was deserved peace. And the woman I’m becoming is ready to find it.