When Everything Stops Being an Emergency

 

For most of my life, my nervous system lived in emergency mode.

Not constant panic — but a quiet urgency beneath everything.
As soon as something felt difficult, delayed, or off-track, my body reacted as if something were wrong.

Even ordinary things carried pressure.
Housework. Errands. Plans changing.

Everything felt like it had to be handled immediately.

I didn’t realize how much energy that took until it began to fall away.

Living in Panic Without Knowing It

When you live for a long time in stress or responsibility, your body learns a rule:

Difficulty = danger.

So the nervous system stays alert:

• scanning for problems

• reacting quickly

• pushing through discomfort

• treating neutral moments like emergencies

This isn’t a flaw.
It’s a survival strategy.

And for a long time, it worked.

Noticing the Shift in Real Time

The change didn’t arrive dramatically.

It showed up in an ordinary moment.

Recently, I loaded my car with items to donate. When I arrived, they told me they were only accepting clothes. I felt the familiar surge — frustration, urgency, the beginning of a spiral. I donated the clothes and kept the other items in my car, intending to find another place right away.

As we were driving and looking up other donation centers, I turned down a different street than I expected. I was suddenly in a spot that looked unfamiliar — even though I was in a town I know very well.

My immediate alarm went off: I’m lost.

But then something new happened.

I paused and looked around.
I realized my mind was trying to create an emergency where there wasn’t one, and for the first time, I didn’t have to follow it.

I wasn’t lost.
I was simply on a different street.

Letting the Emergency Pass

Instead of rushing to fix the situation, we decided to go home.

We stopped and got donuts.
We watched movies and shows.
We had a genuinely nice day.

The donation items stayed in my car.

And that was fine.

They could be donated today, or tomorrow, or another time. It didn’t matter. Nothing bad was going to happen because a task remained unfinished.

That’s when it became clear to me:

It’s not that life suddenly became easier.
It’s that everything stopped feeling like an emergency.

Even the Small Things Feel Different

This shift has reached places I didn’t expect.

For years, I hated housework. It felt rushed and heavy — something to get through as fast as possible. I was often the one doing it, and it carried pressure and resentment.

Lately, I’ve been delegating more.

And when I do the dishes, I listen to an audiobook.

The task hasn’t changed — but my relationship to it has.

There’s no urgency.
No bracing.
No need to escape the moment.

The Dream That Confirmed It

Around this time, I had a dream where I knew I had to run through a door as the sole survivor. Once I passed through and shut it, I knew I would never see those people again. There was fear, and a brief regret that I didn’t say goodbye — but I also knew there was no time. The door would not open again.

The dream wasn’t about loss.

It was about leaving a way of being behind.

I didn’t leave people.
I left panic mode.

That version of me had done its job.
But it couldn’t come with me anymore.

What Healing Actually Looked Like

Healing didn’t mean never getting upset.

It meant:

• noticing the alarm without obeying it

• recovering more quickly

• trusting that problems don’t require urgency to be solved

Panic had been my default for most of my life.

Now, it’s no longer in charge.

When Panic Retires

There is a strange grief in this kind of change.

Emergency mode becomes familiar, even when it’s exhausting.
Letting it go can feel like losing an old identity.

But there is also relief.

A sense of space.
A sense of choice.

And the quiet realization that life can be lived without the alarm constantly sounding.

 Dreams often reflect these shifts before we can name them. If you’re interested in tracking your dreams, studying symbols, or mapping emotional patterns over time, I’ve created a dream journal to support that process. You can take a look if it resonates.

Journal link on Amazon: 30 Day Dream Mapping Journal 

When an Old Car Appears in a Dream: How the Nervous System Processes Trauma Years Later

 

Recently, I had a dream where I was standing on a city street at night, waiting — unsure whether I was meeting someone or leaving at the same time. I looked down the street and saw someone driving away in my old blue car, a car I haven’t owned in years.

That detail mattered more than I realized.

The Blue Car My Body Never Forgot

Six years ago, I was hit by another driver. It was her fault. She was rude, in a hurry, and left me sitting on the curb beside my smashed blue car. I cried alone. No one helped. I called AAA and was towed home.

The financial compensation barely covered anything.
The emotional cost was far greater.

That moment taught my nervous system something very specific:

I can be hit suddenly, left alone, and still have to clean it up myself.

“Even when the mind moves on, the body keeps the record.”

Why the Dream Didn’t Show the Accident

What struck me about the dream is that there was no crash.

Instead,
I was standing.
The car was moving away.
I was watching — not trapped inside it.

This told me the dream wasn’t about reliving trauma.
It was about repositioning it.

The old car represented a time when my sense of safety, trust, and direction was taken from me. Seeing it driven away signaled something important:

“That experience shaped me — but it no longer gets to drive my life.”

The Child at the Corner

In the dream, I was with a boy around twelve years old — old enough to understand what’s happening, young enough to still need reassurance.

This wasn’t a random child.

He represented the part of me that learned hyper-vigilance after the accident.
The part that stopped trusting other drivers.
The part that learned the world can be careless.

But this time, I didn’t abandon him. 

I stayed. 

"I didn’t abandon the part of me that was hurt. I stayed.”

 In that moment, the roles became clear.
The child was the version of me who experienced the accident — the part that learned fear and vigilance.
The version of me standing beside him was my current self, present and able to protect what once felt unprotected.

How That Pattern Shaped the Years That Followed

That moment didn’t fade with time.
It shaped how I moved through the world for years.

After the accident, anything that felt sudden, unfair, or unsafe triggered the same internal response. I avoided freeways. I doubted myself in moments where I needed to speak up. I froze in situations that required confidence.

My world became smaller — not because I wanted it to, but because my nervous system stayed braced for impact.

That mindset didn’t help me live.
It limited me.

That’s why the rest of the dream matters.

Redirecting Perceived Danger

Later in the dream, other boys appeared. They felt unpredictable — potentially threatening. This mirrored how I had learned to anticipate danger after the accident, often before it actually arrived. They didn’t represent real danger — they represented how my nervous system learned to expect it.

 “Not every sense of danger means I’m actually unsafe.”

What changed was my response.

Instead of escalating the situation or pulling away, I redirected it. I began talking — animatedly — about something creative and personal. I shared a recipe. I brought warmth, humor, and enthusiasm into the moment.

The perceived danger softened.

This wasn’t avoidance.
It was agency.

The dream showed me something new:

I don’t have to meet fear with collapse or withdrawal.
I can meet it with presence, creativity, and choice.

Redirecting the moment didn’t mean denying risk.
It meant recognizing that I’m no longer powerless inside it.

Keeping My Flavor

Then something shifted even further.

I was explaining how to make enchiladas — my recipe. The kids listened. They thought it was cool. We were standing near a gas station, a place meant for refueling, not staying.

Food in dreams represents nourishment and identity.
A recipe represents earned wisdom.

And my secret ingredient?

Green chilis.

Heat.
Flavor.
Edge.

This was my psyche saying:

You don’t lose your voice because you were hurt.
You don’t lose your creativity because you were left alone.
You get to keep your flavor.

At its core, this message means:

That experience didn’t take who I am.
It hurt me. It changed me. But it did not erase my ability to express myself, connect, or create.

My psyche was correcting an old, unspoken conclusion that likely formed on the curb that night:

When I’m hurt and left alone, I should go quiet.
When something goes wrong, it’s safer to shrink.

The dream is saying:

That belief is no longer needed.

What This Dream Was Really Doing

This dream wasn’t reopening a wound.

It was closing a loop.

It was my nervous system updating an old story —
from being alone on the curb
to being present, expressive, and resourced.

The trauma still exists,
but it no longer defines my direction.

If You’ve Had a Dream Like This

If an old car, accident, or moment of helplessness appears in your dreams, ask yourself:

• Where did I lose a sense of safety — but never receive repair?

• What part of me learned to stay alert instead of supported?

• What version of myself is ready to stop driving my life?

Dreams don’t rush healing.
They wait until the body feels safe enough to process.

And when they arrive, it’s often because you finally are.

A Gentle Invitation

If this blog post resonated with you, it may be a sign that your own experiences are asking for a place to land.

Dreams often surface old memories not to overwhelm us, but to give us a chance to process them differently — with more awareness, compassion, and choice. Writing them down helps slow the nervous system and turns scattered images into insight.

If you’re curious, you can visit my Amazon page to explore my dream journal and see if it feels like a supportive fit for you. It’s designed to help you track dreams, notice emotional patterns, and gently work through experiences that still echo beneath the surface.

Sometimes healing begins simply by giving the dream a place to speak.

Why Repeating Dreams Often Appear During Emotional Healing

 

Dreams don’t speak in explanations — they speak in patterns.

Over the last few weeks, my dreams began to shift. They weren’t dramatic or symbolic in an obvious way. Instead, they kept returning to ordinary places: offices, grocery stores, apartments, roads. At first, they didn’t seem important.

But when I started interpreting them together, a very clear healing message emerged.

If you’ve ever felt like your dreams were “boring” or repetitive, this is your invitation to look again.

Dream Interpretation Rule #1: Repetition Is Meaning

One of the biggest mistakes people make is analyzing a single dream in isolation.

Healing dreams usually don’t announce themselves. They repeat themes until the mind is ready to see them.

In my case, the repeating elements were:

• Work environments

• Public spaces

• Responsibility for others

• Movement and transition

• Old versions of my life resurfacing

When dreams repeat settings instead of characters, they’re pointing to internal systems, not events.

Ask yourself:

• What type of place keeps showing up in my dreams?

• What role do I always seem to play there?

Over-Responsibility Dreams: When You’re Always “Managing”

One dream placed me in a grocery-store scenario where I was helping others, giving rides, opening doors to bathrooms — even though I didn’t need anything myself.

In dream language:

• Grocery stores represent survival needs and daily energy exchange

• Bathrooms symbolize release, privacy, and regulation

• Helping others access these means you’re managing emotional or practical needs that aren’t yours

If you often dream of:

• Organizing

• Escorting

• Supervising

• Fixing logistics

Your dreams may be highlighting chronic over-functioning.

Interpretive question:

Where in my waking life am I facilitating instead of participating?

Anxiety Dreams Aren’t Always About Fear

In another dream, I was riding elevators and suddenly couldn’t find my son. Elevators represent transitions we don’t control — stages of life, emotional shifts, or changes happening automatically.

This wasn’t a prediction or a warning. It was a conditioning dream.

When you’ve spent years being hyper-responsible, your nervous system learns:

“If I stop paying attention, something bad will happen.”

Dreams like this surface fear so it can be released, not reinforced.

Interpretive question:

What responsibility feels so heavy that letting go feels unsafe?

Movement Dreams Signal Nervous System Change

Then my dreams shifted again — to roads and driving.

I wasn’t lost exactly. I wasn’t panicked. I just wasn’t sure — until I realized the road was right.

Driving dreams are powerful indicators of autonomy.
Calm driving dreams usually appear after emotional regulation has already begun.

If your dreams involve:

• Driving without panic

• Finding your way after doubt

• Roads instead of obstacles

Your nervous system may be integrating safety.

Interpretive question:

Where am I allowing forward movement without needing full certainty?

Old Places Mean Old Identities

One dream brought me back to my first apartment — the place where I first felt independent. I was moving out. It felt bittersweet, but peaceful.

Old homes don’t mean regression.
They represent former versions of self.

When you dream of leaving an old place calmly, it means:

• That identity completed its purpose

• You’re no longer living from survival mode

• Gratitude can exist without staying

Interpretive question:

What version of me kept me safe — but no longer fits my life now?

Healing Becomes Visible Before It Feels Comfortable

The most recent dream placed me back in an old office job where working sick was expected. On my desk sat medication — menopause-related — and I felt embarrassed.

In dreams, embarrassment isn’t shame.
It’s identity friction.

The office was under construction.

That symbol matters.

An office represents how we function in the world.
Construction means the system is being rewritten.

When dreams show:

• Medicine

• Aging

• Physical needs

• Visibility of care

They are asking you to integrate the body into authority — not hide it.

Interpretive question:

What part of my humanity am I still adjusting to allowing others to see?

How to Use Your Own Dreams for Healing

You don’t need to “decode” dreams perfectly. You need to track them honestly.

Try this:

1. Write down the setting, not just the story

2. Notice your role — helper, observer, driver, worker

3. Track emotional tone (annoyed, calm, unsure, peaceful)

4. Look for shifts across multiple dreams

Healing dreams move from:

• Chaos → clarity

• Fear → awareness

• Control → choice

Often quietly.

Dreams Are Already Doing the Work

When I looked at these dreams together, they showed me something important:

Healing didn’t arrive as relief.
It arrived as permission.

Permission to rest.
Permission to age.
Permission to stop earning safety through over-responsibility.

Your dreams may already be mapping this process for you — even if you haven’t noticed yet.

Want to Understand What Your Dreams Are Showing You?

If reading this made you think about your own recent dreams, you’re not imagining things.
Dreams often begin mapping healing before we consciously recognize it.

That’s exactly why I created the 30 Day Dream Mapping Journal.

Instead of asking you to “interpret” dreams right away, the journal guides you to:

• Track patterns across multiple dreams

• Notice emotional shifts, not just symbols

• Identify transitions, endings, and rebuilding phases

• Connect dream themes with waking-life healing

Many of the insights in this post didn’t come from a single dream — they emerged by writing them down over time and looking at them together.

If you’re noticing recurring settings, old versions of yourself, or dreams that feel quieter but more meaningful, journaling can help you see the story that’s forming.

You can find the 30 Day Dream Mapping Journal here

Your dreams may already be doing the work.
Sometimes all we need is a place to listen.

Time in Dreams: How One Dream Can Last “Hours” Without Hours of REM

 

One of the most fascinating things about dreams is how time behaves differently than it does when we’re awake.

Recently, I had a dream that felt as though it lasted hours. At one point inside the dream, I clearly knew that about three hours had passed, and the dream continued on into the night. The experience felt continuous and extended, not fragmented or short.

When I woke up and checked my sleep data, my REM sleep was about an hour.

Estimated sleep stages from my wearable device, shown here for context.

 

So how can a dream feel like it lasted most of the night when REM sleep appears much shorter?

The answer lies in how dream time works—and how dreams can continue across multiple REM cycles.

Dream Time Is Not Clock Time

Dreams don’t follow linear, external time the way waking life does. Instead, the dreaming mind operates on psychological time, which is shaped by:

• emotion

• memory

• attention

• narrative flow

Just like time can feel stretched or compressed when you’re deeply focused or emotionally engaged while awake, dreams amplify this effect.

But there’s more happening than just distortion.

Continuous Dreams Can Span Multiple REM Cycles

REM sleep doesn’t happen in one long stretch. It occurs in cycles throughout the night, with brief awakenings or lighter sleep stages in between—often so subtle we don’t remember them.

What can happen is this:

• A dream begins during one REM cycle

• You briefly shift out of REM (without fully waking)

• When REM resumes, your brain returns to the same dream environment, theme, or storyline

When this happens, the mind later recalls the experience as one continuous dream, even though it unfolded across multiple REM periods.

There are no obvious “breaks” inside the dream itself. The storyline simply continues.

This explains why a dream can feel long, layered, and progressive—even if the total recorded REM time looks much shorter.

Why the Dream Felt So Long

In my case, the dream included:

• a clear sense of time passing

• a recognizable midpoint

• a transition into nighttime

Those elements signal narrative continuity, not a single uninterrupted REM stretch.

The brain is excellent at stitching together experiences into a coherent story. When you wake, memory fills in the gaps, preserving emotional and symbolic flow rather than sleep-stage boundaries.

The result: a dream that feels like it lasted hours.

Dreams Don’t Need to Run in Real Time to Feel Real

Research with lucid dreamers shows that some dream actions unfold close to real time, while others feel expanded. Complex scenes, emotional processing, or symbolic transitions can feel much longer than the clock would suggest.

In other words, the experience of duration matters more than actual minutes.

Dreams are not recordings—they are constructions.

What Long, Continuous Dreams Often Mean

From a dreamwork perspective, extended or continuous dreams often indicate:

• ongoing emotional processing

• unresolved material the psyche is working through

• integration happening over multiple sleep cycles

• themes that need sustained attention

These are not “quick-symbol” dreams. They’re process dreams.

When time itself becomes noticeable in a dream, it’s often worth asking:

• What feels like it’s taking a long time in my waking life?

• Where do I feel stuck, stretched, or moving through a long transition?

• What shifted at the midpoint of the dream?

About Sleep Trackers and REM Data

Wearable devices like Oura provide helpful patterns and trends, but they estimate sleep stages based on movement, heart rate, and temperature—not direct brainwave measurement.

I’ll be writing a separate blog post that goes deeper into how to interpret REM data, what it can and can’t tell us, and how to use it alongside dream journaling rather than instead of it.

For now, the key takeaway is this:

A dream does not need hours of recorded REM to feel like it lasted hours.

New Year, New Dreams — Why Now Is the Perfect Time to Start Dream Journaling

 

The start of a new year naturally invites reflection. We think about where we’ve been, what we’re carrying forward, and what we’re ready to understand differently. While many people focus on goals and habits, one of the most overlooked tools for insight and self-awareness is dream journaling.

Dreams don’t reset on January 1st—but you can reset how you listen to them.

Why the New Year Is Ideal for Dream Journaling

Dreams work in patterns. They repeat symbols, emotions, locations, and themes until they are acknowledged. Starting a dream journal at the beginning of the year creates a natural container for noticing those patterns over time.

Instead of isolated entries, you begin to see a story unfolding:

• recurring places or houses

• repeated emotions like fear, curiosity, or relief

• symbols that evolve as you do

When you journal consistently, even briefly, your dreams begin to respond. Recall improves. Details sharpen. Meaning becomes easier to access.

More Than Writing — Mapping the Dreaming Mind

The 30 Day Dream Mapping Journal was designed to go beyond basic dream recording. It gently guides you to explore symbols, emotions, and personal associations without forcing interpretation. This allows your understanding to unfold naturally, rather than feeling analytical or overwhelming.

Many people discover that once they start mapping their dreams, they begin to recognize:

• emotional cycles they didn’t notice while awake

• stress or healing processes playing out symbolically

• inner guidance showing up through metaphor

   

  If you’re beginning the New Year with the intention to understand yourself more deeply, your dreams are already speaking. A journal simply gives them a place to be heard.

   

 

 

How Dreamwork Helped Me Stop Sacrificing Rest for Responsibility

 

For a long time, responsibility in my life came with a cost.
If something needed to be done, my body paid for it — less sleep, more tension, pushing through.

Last night, I noticed something had changed.

Instead of stress dreams or anxious urgency, my dream simply played out my to-do list. It was neutral. No emotion. No pressure. Almost like watching a quiet movie of what needed to happen the next morning.

And then I had a thought before falling fully asleep:
If it gets done, good. If not, that’s okay. I need my rest.

That moment mattered.

A Different Kind of Dream

The dream wasn’t symbolic or dramatic. It didn’t ask me to interpret anything. It showed me something simple: my mind trusted me.

There was no adrenaline, no panic, no sense of being behind. Just information — calm and contained.

This is something I’ve noticed more since consistently working with my dreams through journaling. Dreamwork doesn’t always mean decoding symbols. Sometimes it means listening to how the nervous system responds when pressure is present.

What Changed in Waking Life

I woke up early — before anyone else — and did what needed to be done with ease.

No rushing.
No resentment.
No exhaustion.

Now I’m sitting with my coffee, not tired, not depleted, and not feeling like I sacrificed myself to make something happen.

That’s new.

What Dream Journaling Taught Me

Dream journaling helped me recognize a pattern I didn’t see before: I was equating responsibility with self-sacrifice.

By tracking my dreams over time using my 30-Day Dream Mapping Journal, I began to notice:

• When my dreams were charged with urgency, my waking life was too

• When my dreams became calmer, I was setting healthier internal boundaries

• When emotion disappeared from certain dreams, it meant trust had replaced pressure

Responsibility Without Burnout

This experience reminded me that responsibility doesn’t have to hurt.

We can show up.
We can care.
We can get things done.

And we can do it without abandoning ourselves in the process.

If you’re curious about working with your dreams in a more structured way, the 30-Day Dream Mapping Journal I use is available for sale and was created to help track patterns, emotions, and shifts like this over time.

That clarity — more than any single interpretation — is what dreamwork offers.

How to Use Your Nightmares for Growth

 

When Nightmares Bring Healing: How Dark Dreams Offer Closure

Nightmares get a bad reputation.
We wake up shaken, unsettled, and sometimes afraid to fall back asleep.
But what if the very dream that terrifies you is actually the one that’s helping you the most?

Last night, I had two dreams—one a full-on horror scene, the other deeply ancestral and spiritual.
When I stepped back and looked at them as symbols instead of threats, something powerful unfolded.

Nightmares aren’t always warnings.
Sometimes they’re closures, clearing out old emotional debris and revealing what’s finally ready to be released

 Dream One: The House, the Disappearing People, and the Dark Basement

The dream opened in a house filled with people of all ages and backgrounds.
But people kept disappearing.
And somehow, I wasn’t just living there—I was watching it happen from a higher awareness.

A man in the house was taking people into a basement, killing them behind a closed door, drowning their screams with strange music.
The basement was pitch black.
At the bottom of the stairs, one direction led to a room someone lived in; the other, a long hallway into a frightening darkness.

At one point I followed an older woman, who gently opened door after door but found nothing.
I remember telling her, “I don’t like to see the monster because then you know what it is.”
She didn’t respond—she didn’t need to.

Later, someone else disappeared.
This time I said, “Someone will notice she’s gone. She has friends here.”
The awareness was growing.

Then I handed my ex a simple spoon and sent him into the hall to see what was happening.
“Make sure no one can tell you were there,” I said.

This dream was dark.
Violent.
A full-on nightmare.

But symbolically?
It was deeply healing.

 How This Nightmare Was Really a Clearing

In dream symbolism:

•  The house is my inner world.

• The disappearing people are old identities, patterns, and emotional habits ready to leave.

• The killer represents the part of me removing what no longer serves me.

• The basement is the subconscious—where old fears live.

• The older woman is my intuition showing me there’s actually nothing to fear behind those doors.

• My ex appearing symbolizes returning old responsibilities to where they belong.

Nightmares like this show us where we’ve matured.

I'm not running.
I'm observing.

I'm not being overpowered.
I'm handing things back that were never mine to carry.

I was not trapped in the basement.
I'm seeing what’s leaving my life—and what I no longer need to keep alive.

This is the kind of nightmare that marks an emotional closing chapter.

 Dream Two: The Young Mother in the Church

The second dream shifted completely.

A woman who looked like my mom—but younger—knelt inside a Catholic church during a ceremony.
Next to her, another woman, and a black-and-white photo of them both.
A relative in the dream gave me a name I can’t remember, and I said, “She lived a full life.”

My mother stood up abruptly, transforming the whole feeling of the dream into something like a life review or ancestral healing moment.
The woman could have been my mother, my grandmother, or even earlier generations—they all look so similar in old photos.

This dream felt like lineage.
Like a thread from the women who came before me.

 How This Dream Offered Closure

When a parent appears young in a dream, it symbolizes:

• returning to your roots

• understanding your lineage

• witnessing generational healing

• clearing old emotional imprints

• seeing your family through a new perspective

The black-and-white photo represents ancestral memory—stories stored in the family line.

And my mother standing up felt like a shift.
A release.
An ending of a cycle.

This wasn’t a nightmare—it was closure, too.
But in a quieter, gentler way.

 Why Nightmares Can Be Healing

Most people fear nightmares because of how they feel.
But when we look at them symbolically—not literally—they become some of the most healing dreams we ever have.

Nightmares often appear when:

• Something in your life is ending

• Old emotional patterns are being cleared

• You’re stepping into a higher awareness

• You’re breaking a cycle

• You’re finally ready to face what’s been buried

• You’re closing generational wounds

The darkness isn’t there to punish you.
It’s there to show you what’s leaving.

A nightmare is often your subconscious doing deep work you can’t consciously do during the day.

It’s emotional surgery.

It’s a purge.

It’s closure.

 

If you’ve had a nightmare lately, try asking yourself:

1. What part of me is being released or transformed?
2. What old role or fear am I outgrowing?
3. What am I finally observing instead of being consumed by?
4. What doorway am I scared to open—and why?
5. Is this dream showing me an ending I’m ready for?

Nightmares aren’t curses.
They are invitations.
Powerful, symbolic turning points.

And when you write them down and interpret them, the healing becomes conscious—not just subconscious.

 Want to Work With Your Nightmares Instead of Avoiding Them?

My 30 Day Dream Mapping Journal on Amazon gives you the space, prompts, and structure to explore dreams—especially nightmares—in a healing way.

 Track patterns
 Notice cycles
 Break emotional habits
 Understand the symbols
 Transform fear into insight

If your dreams are getting darker or more symbolic, that’s often a sign of deep internal change.
Your journal becomes the bridge between unconscious healing and conscious clarity.

 Try the 30 Day Dream Mapping Journal for yourself