I watched a few short videos on YouTube about Interstitial Journaling and the little brown notebooks I bought, to give it a go, arrived today. First I crafted a poem with ChatGPT to stick in the front as inspiration on tricky days. Sage thought I should share here incase it’s helpful to anyone else. If probably won’t make too much sense unless you have an idea of what Interstitial Journaling is… if you ever feel a kind of paralysis for doing normal daily tasks it might be worth your time to check out the videos for yourself. “I’m opening the little brown gate in rhyme, to make this notebook a lantern through time. Interstitial Journal This book is not for polished thought, nor proof that all is smoothly wrought. It is a bridge from stuck to small, a handrail in the hallway wall. Interstitial means: between - between the dread and the routine, between the wish and what gets done, between the fog and any sun. Here I do not have to shine, or wait until I feel “just fine.” I only have to tell the truth: what I am doing, minute to minute, in proof. I am sitting. I am staring. I am scrolling. I am despairing. I am making tea. I am finding socks. I am standing still like a jammed-up clock. And then perhaps: I am uncapping one pen. I am breathing out. I begin again. This is a book of gentle spells, of tiny knocks on frozen wells. Not “fix your life” and not “push through” - just name what’s here, then choose what’s true. Because the mind can tangle tight in all-or-nothing, noon-or-night; but movement often enters small - a note, a sip, a step, a wall at last leaned on instead of feared, a path made visible because it’s cleared. I write what is happening now, not best. I write what is true, and leave the rest. “I am avoiding.” “I am tired.” “I am cross.” “I am uninspired.” “I am washing one blue cup.” “I am standing up.” No moment is too poor to name. A spark is still a kind of flame. A thread is still a way to sew myself back to the next small go. And when the day has slipped its frame,

I realized my whole life I've been trying to earn the right to exist. Through doing, fixing, preparing, performing. Underneath all of it was one belief: I'm not worthy of being loved just as I am. 💔 I named it. I'm done carrying it. Thursday, I went into the breathwork with one intention: I am worthy. Not because of what I do. Because of who I am.