Every morning, before the noise of the day starts, I sit down and write. Sometimes it’s just a few sentences, other times it’s pages that pour out of me like a conversation I’ve been waiting to have. I write about Kira — about memories, feelings, what I wish I could say if she were still here. I write about our cats, about the small moments that make me smile, and about the quiet loneliness that lingers after loss. This is what JournallingAboutKira.com is — a place where my thoughts live, breathe, and, hopefully, heal.
The idea for the site came from a need to understand my own headspace. I wake up with thoughts that can feel heavy or scattered: reflections on life, grief, work, purpose, and sometimes even the question of whether I’m ready to open my heart again. Writing them down has become my way of taking a breath — of making sense of emotions that don’t always have clear answers.
This journal isn’t about perfection or presentation. It’s about honesty. Some mornings, I might write about the cats curling up beside me, grounding me in the present. Other days, I might write about the ache of missing Kira, or the quiet fear of wondering what comes next. It’s part grief, part reflection, part conversation with myself. But most importantly, it’s about moving forward — one thought, one entry, one small act of clarity at a time.
I’ve realized that by keeping this journal, I’m not only documenting what I feel, but also creating a map of my healing process. It’s a private kind of therapy — a written space where I can confront my thoughts without judgment. Eventually, I may share parts of it with a therapist, doctor, or even someone special one day, to help me communicate where I’ve been and where I’m trying to go. Writing makes it easier to see patterns, recognize triggers, and find gratitude in unexpected places.
In many ways, JournallingAboutKira.com isn’t just a website. It’s a companion through my mornings. It helps me pause, reflect, and accept that healing isn’t linear. Some days I feel grounded and peaceful; other days I’m reminded that grief still has sharp edges. Both are okay. Both belong here.
Maybe someday, this journal will be something more — a bridge that helps me open up again, whether to a therapist, a friend, or even a future partner. For now, it’s simply a safe space. A place to write, to remember, to question, and to keep learning how to live a healthy, hopeful life after loss.
Journalling About Kira is where my mornings begin — with honesty, with reflection, and with the quiet belief that healing is possible when you give your thoughts a voice.