The essence of writing to me is the facing of one’s self. Through writing, we materialize the ideas coursing through our minds; we make our true selves tangible. However, this is only possible if we are completely honest with our journals (blogs, diaries, notebooks, what have you) and not construct lies when writing to make ourselves feel better or sound better than we really are (ahem, Anaïs Nin). By materializing our minds we are given then the option of rejecting ourselves or accepting ourselves. “How could I possibly think that?” I wondered once, when I caught myself about to write down a particularly mean-spirited thought. I was shocked with myself, but nevertheless, I thought it. It came from me. Other times I will hesitate because of embarrassment, guilt, shyness, or some other emotion, but most of the time I manage to write whatever it was down anyway. This is difficult but necessary because I feel that I must know myself as well as possible, the good and the bad. Or, more precisely, I must like—or at least accept—myself before expecting anyone else to do the same.