I remember being eight years old and writing in my diary about my day.

It didn't seem like a big deal to me at the time to write down everything I thought or saw that day. I actually didn't know it was odd until some third grade jerks decided the only possible thing running through my mind was boys. Yikes. (Men are not the focus fellas, hate to break it you!) Well, I went on with writing about what I had for lunch and why my mom was a poopyface (yes, I didn't even cuss when I wrote at nine years old) for a while until someone worthy noticed.

I brought my journal (upgrade from diary) to school and was called out by my teacher as to why I wasn't focused in class. She took my journal and told me I could have it back after our lesson. Now, I should note that I am a very goofy person and I often embarrass myself. However, when my teacher said she read through some of my journal...I promise I felt like she said she had just seen my Powerpuff Girl underwear. I bolted from her classroom and into the restroom to cry. I don't know why but for some reason I was so embarrassed and felt like some part of me was revealed that I didn't think I was okay with showing.

I got my journal back but couldn't look my teacher in the face. She asked me to calm down and asked, "Why are you reacting like this? Don't you know what you're doing is helping yourself?" I didn't understand what she was trying to tell me. And you know what? Almost every English teacher/professor have shared that their writings are like self-care for themselves. I never understood what they meant...until one day I was packing and found my little blue Limited Too (only a few people know of what this retail fossil is) journal and decided to open it up. The entry was dated "August 2, 2005: Something really bad happened I think... my mom is really scared and that makes me really scared. My family went on a trip but everyone is crying so I think they are sad they're gone, and later, "August 15, 2005: My cousin Joshua is home...he's the only one here and he is not okay. My mom says we have to pray." And for the first time in my life, that was the only journal I never finished.

I share that because I have been writing my whole life and I never understood its purpose until I realized that when I get lost, I look back.

My entries are who I am and everything I produce is a part of me. I have spent my undergrad researching, analyzing, debating, and writing about the ways of the world and the human experience. I have learned about faith, love, pain, anger, and everything people believe is a driving force in their day to day life. I have become a fully developed human being who knows the answers to "why?" and "how?" Some people get lost in figuring out those answers...

I have over thirty journals of everything I have ever experienced and learned in my lifetime. The thing I have realized in my line of work is... I have to expose myself if I even try to make it. I cried when my teacher read through my entries because that is who I am. Me writing to an audience is me sharing myself knowing someone out there is going to criticize me or take apart everything I am saying. Everyone who reads this is safe behind their screen while I am baring my soul not knowing the true person behind every compliment or insult.

I love writing but wow I picked one of the hardest job markets out there. My professors told me I am good at what I do but... yikes, it is going to be hard.

Unfortunately, I know that I am going to starve with my Bachelor of Arts in English.

The chances of my words making any profit are slim to none and my skills will water down to marketing and customer service. All I have learned is how to utilize my brain in ways that can help anyone except myself. I have betrayed myself in receiving a non-technical degree.

However, I refuse to let my creativity die and this is for every Liberal Arts major/graduate who is determined in mastering and sharing their craft: DO NOT LET IT DIE.