11 Questions That Helped Me Hear Myself Again
A quiet practice for the women learning to live a slower, more artful life.
I have been journaling more than usual lately. Not in the structured, productive way I used to—when every page felt like a performance review for my own life—but in a slower, quieter way. A way that feels less like documenting and more like returning.
Journaling has become the place where my inner world catches up to me.
It’s where I hear the things I was too busy to feel. It’s where I notice the stories I’ve outgrown. It’s where I meet past versions of myself, the way you run into an old friend at a café—surprised, softened, suddenly aware of how much time has passed.
What I’ve realized is that writing does not just record your life. It reframes it. It gives shape to the inner seasons you’re moving through, even the ones you haven’t yet named.
And lately, I’ve been moving through a quieter season. This is the pace where reflection begins to do its real work.
Below are the questions that have helped me listen. They’re not meant to “fix” anything. They’re meant to open a door.
Where My Prompts Begin
Before the questions, I try to settle into a gentler posture toward myself. I light a candle, choose a page without expectation, and remind myself that this is not about writing beautifully. It’s about paying attention.
The Prompts I Keep Returning To
1. What season of my life am I in, and how does it feel in my body, not just in my mind?
Naming the season helps you stop fighting the weather.
2. What have I been holding alone?
We all carry something quietly. Writing it down makes it less lonely.
3. Which memory has resurfaced recently, and what version of me is asking to be seen?
Sometimes the past knocks because you’re finally ready to understand it.
4. Where am I craving softness?
A gentle life starts with a single softened corner.
5. What story have I been telling myself about who I should be and is it still true?
Old narratives linger long after their purpose ends.
6. What beauty did I overlook this week?
Paying attention is its own form of devotion.
7. What part of my creative life feels neglected, and what is the smallest way I can return to it?
Not a leap. A step.
8. What have I outgrown that I’m still trying to fit into?
Letting go is its own creative act.
9. What am I learning to want?
Desire evolves when you’re finally quiet enough to hear it.
10. What would feel like care to the woman I am right now?
You can offer yourself what you once waited for.
11. If this chapter of my life needed a title, what would it be and why?
A question that turns your current reality into a story worth paying attention to.
Why These Questions Matter
Slowing down is not always peaceful. Sometimes it brings up the feelings we outran for years. But writing is how we metabolize what we’ve been carrying. It’s how we sift through the noise and step back into ourselves gently, without judgment.
This is how I’ve been learning to live in story—not by rushing to answers, but by asking better questions. Questions that make room for meaning and intention.
Because we are, all of us, writing our way into a gentler chapter.