Sunday, March 22, 2026

Blast From The Past: Twenty Questions, Part III

For the last two weeks I've been revisiting old journal entries, looking back through a list of twenty self-reflection questions I first answered more than a decade ago. I love using reflective journaling prompts in my writing, and I especially love the way tracking personal growth over time shows me where things have changed. But it's more than just journaling for clarity.

Introspective thinking is an invitation to look deeper at your mindset and perspective. It nurtures emotional self awareness, especially in seasons of struggle—when you're learning to admit when you're wrong, when letting go of what doesn't serve you anymore hurts, when successfully balancing work and life priorities seems impossible. Learning from life experience is painful, but it's also the key to becoming a better person.

In the years since I first answered these questions, a lot has changed. My children have grown up. I've gotten married—and divorced. I lost both of my parents. My faith has changed. My face has changed. What hasn't changed is that I'm still asking deep questions about life. Still exploring lessons from the past. And still learning to use those lessons as building blocks for the future.

The first time I answered these questions, the core values were already there, and I think that's why so many of my answers look the same at first glance. Finding humor in hard times is still a challenge. I'm still working through comparison, perfectionism, boundary-setting, and people-pleasing. But now, life has added new context. In many ways, time has humbled the girl I used to be.

And maybe that's the true beauty of how journaling for self discovery works—it's a long, patient conversation between the person you used to be and the person you're still becoming.


If you haven't seen them yet, feel free to check parts one and two for the first ten questions in this series—and if you'd like to answer these for yourself, you can find the complete list here!


11. Where am I wrong?

This is one of those questions that really shows how perspective changes over time, not because my answer is dramatically different, but because it isn't. Last time I answered this, I admitted to being wrong in lots of areas: too much yelling as a mom, too much shame I was still holding onto as a woman. Too many regrets, too much darkness. Too much swearing. Too much still left to learn about the world and my place in it.

And while I don't yell (or swear) as much these days, I still have some of that other stuff. I still regret things I've done—and things I haven't done. There are still things I'm ashamed of, still parts of me that are shadowed by darkness. There's still so much to learn.

What's different now is that I don't always see those things as flaws anymore. I don't always see them as evidence of "wrong"ness. Time has taught me to look at those things as evidence of process. Will I get life wrong sometimes? Sure I will, just like anyone else does. But I'm learning.


12. What potential memories am I bartering, and is the profit worth the price?

Questions like this always make me think of The Neverending Story, where Bastian loses memories each time he uses the Auryn to change things in Fantastica. Those scenes broke my heart, because they show how every choice we makes costs us something—so the first time I answered this, I wrote about fear and safety. About the memories we never make because we're too afraid to try. The trips we don't take, the relationships we can't risk. The food that might've been a favorite if only we tasted it.

I'm still deeply sentimental, so that aspect of my answer hasn't changed. I still treasure my memories and experiences, even the bad ones, because they've shaped the woman I am today. And maybe that's why I try to be so intentional about choosing what matters most...because when we choose comfort over courage, safety over curiosity, or busyness over presence, we miss out on the memories we might have made. And some of those moments, once missed, never come back.


13. Am I the only one struggling not to {fart} during {yoga}?

This is another one of those bracket questions where you can substitute whatever awkward or uncomfortable situation comes to mind. And the first time I answered it, the realization was simple: regardless of the situation, I’m not the only one.

Like most people, I've often felt that my struggles, insecurities, or embarrassing moments somehow set me apart. That maybe no one else could understand the struggle, or that everyone else had things more figured out than I did. But the longer I live, the more I realize how universal the human experience is.

Sure, we all have a unique story. We have different histories, personalities, talents, and coping mechanisms. But the emotions underneath those stories—doubt and certainty, fear and rejection, celebration and grief—are familiar to everyone. And while I know I'm the only person living my exact life with my exact circumstances, it comforts me to be reminded that I'm not the only one still stumbling through the learning process.

And neither are you.


14. What do I love to practice?

Another answer that hasn’t changed: writing.

Writing has been the most consistent practice in my life because it touches nearly every part of who I am. It enriches my faith, fueling my self awareness journey as I study the Bible or answer questions for personal growth in my journals. On this blog, it helps me share lessons learned through life’s challenges. On social media, it gives me a way to encourage people when they’re struggling. And in my novels, writing lets me turn simple words into stories that explore healing, hope, and human resilience.

After all these years, the practice itself still matters just as much as the outcome. Because every page—whether it’s a journal entry, a blog post, or a chapter in a novel—is another step in the conversation between who I am and who I’m still becoming..


15. Where could I work less and achieve more?

My original answer to this made me laugh, because apparently I've been wrestling this challenge for a long time. Back then, I wrote about being scattered and jumping between multiple projects, writing thousands of words one day, then ignoring my computer the next. I thought the solution should be simple: set a schedule and stick to it.

Since then, life has taught me that creative work doesn't always cooperate with tidy schedules. Complex PTSD makes it easier to burnout. ADHD can cripple executive function. Sometimes life just interrupts, and allowing yourself to rest is the most productive thing you can do.

But the heart of my original answer is as true now as it was then. I still work best when my energy is focused, my time is protected, and I honor my own boundaries rather than letting distraction seep into the corners of my life. So maybe the real answer has nothing to do with working less or accomplishing more. Maybe it's just about working with intention and practicing habits that shape your life slowly.

Because resting time is not wasted time—it's the recognition that when we think about what matters most, we should count ourselves too..

*****

It's interesting, looking back at these prompts after so long. When I compare the old answers to the new ones, there's a clear line between my younger self and myself today—the old me was hungry for deeper meaning, while the current me is fascinated by process. Questions about being wrong, about the memories we trade for safety, about whether we’re alone or what we do with our time and energy…none of those questions have final answers. Our responses shift as life changes us, and experience steadily reshapes understanding.

When I read those old responses, I don't see a girl who had everything figured out. I see the process of learning to ask the right questions. And that’s where real growth begins.

We don't have to have the perfect answers right away. We just need enough curiosity to examine our lives, enough honesty to admit when we’re wrong. Enough heart to treasure the memories we’re making, and recognize that our struggles are rarely as lonely as they feel. This is the growth that surprises us most—when we realize that the person we used to be was already working toward the person we've become.

Next week we’ll look at the final five questions and see what time has added to those original answers. But until then, let me encourage you to consider your own responses, because sometimes those answers are exactly what you need to...

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