Guided Journal Entry #6

Welcome back to Shrink Wrapped—the podcast where we take life’s little disasters, slap a journal prompt on them, and try to mine some emotional gold from the chaos. It's that time again- guided journal day; and today’s guided journal entry is all about turning your mess into... slightly less of a mess.

Today’s prompt:

“Reflect on a recent challenge or setback. Instead of focusing on the negative, find one aspect to be thankful for. Did it bring a hidden blessing? Teach you resilience? Help you discover an inner strength?”

In other words: we’re doing that annoying-but-actually-helpful thing where we look for the silver lining instead of just screaming into the void. (Don’t worry, screaming still has a place. But today, we reflect.)

Maybe your plans imploded, your expectations ghosted you, or life just came in hot with the plot twist no one asked for. Cool cool cool. But what if, buried in the wreckage, there’s a weird little gift? Like unexpected growth. Or discovering that you didn’t in fact die from embarrassment, even though it really felt like you might.

So grab your journal, your most dramatic sigh, and let’s go treasure hunting in the dumpster fire. Turns out resilience is built in the wreckage—and if nothing else, it makes for a great story. Let’s get into it.

Alright, let’s talk about the cosmic joke that is growth through hardship. You know those moments when life decides to drop-kick you into a wall of disappointment, and everyone’s like, “Everything happens for a reason”? Yeah—that’s the kind of motivational poster that makes you want to scream into a pillow.

But here’s the thing: sometimes, buried underneath the mess, the meltdown, or the full-on emotional dumpster fire, there’s a weird little gift. Maybe it’s not wrapped in a pretty bow—maybe it’s duct-taped to a lesson you didn’t ask for—but it’s there. Whether it's grit, perspective, or just the ability to laugh about it later (because crying in public is exhausting), every setback has a shadow side that isn’t totally awful.

Today’s journal prompt is all about that. We’re flipping the script on pity parties and asking, “What the hell did that chaos give me?” Even if it’s just a reminder that you can survive on iced coffee, delusion, and spite—you still found something.

Did it bring a hidden blessing? Yeah, I know—vomit. It sounds like something stitched on a throw pillow at a yoga retreat run by someone named Moonbeam. But annoyingly, sometimes life does know what it’s doing when it smacks something out of your hands like a cosmic toddler yelling, “No, not that!”

Think about it: that rejection you spiraled over? Could’ve saved you from a boss who communicates exclusively through passive-aggressive Slack emojis. That relationship you mourned like a Victorian widow? Might’ve been slowly eroding your sense of self and stealing your fries. And let’s not even start on that “dream” plan you were chasing that now, with some distance, looks suspiciously like a flaming garbage barge dressed up in glitter and good intentions.

Sometimes losing something isn’t tragic—it’s liberating. It makes space. Emotional closet space. Soul storage. The kind of room you need to actually fit the things that are right for you instead of constantly shoving your spirit into situations that feel like mental shapewear.

And yeah, maybe it didn’t feel like a blessing at the time. Maybe it felt like rejection, failure, a full-blown come-apart. But that’s because growth is a messy little gremlin that never shows up in a neat package. It shows up in breakdowns. Detours. Crying in the car and then, weirdly, laughing five minutes later because what else can you do?

So, sure—it might not be the kind of blessing you write a Hallmark card about. But if it gave you a clearer path, a better fit, or just the sweet, sweet relief of no longer pretending you were happy in a situation that sucked… that’s worth writing down.

The truth is, life’s redirections almost never come with a soothing soundtrack or a clear “this will all make sense someday” subtitle. Nope. They usually show up unannounced like a wrecking ball made of chaos, rejection, and a shameful number of empty snack wrappers. And while you’re knee-deep in the emotional shrapnel, the last thing you’re thinking is, “Wow, what a beautiful opportunity for personal growth!” No. You’re thinking, “WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. HELL.”

Because in the moment, it’s not poetic. It’s a sh*tstorm. It’s plans falling apart like a soggy burrito. It’s feeling like the universe put your name on a prank list. But then—eventually—once you’re out of the metaphorical swamp and can breathe again without rage-sighing every ten minutes, hindsight shows up like that smug friend who just knew your ex was trash. “See?” it says, sipping your leftover emotional energy like a cocktail. “Told you you’d be better off.”

So now the question is: what door opened while you were too busy ugly crying over the one that slammed shut (again, possibly on your foot because life loves drama)? What opportunity snuck in the back while you were rage-scrolling job listings, unfollowing toxic people, or finally blocking that one contact you should’ve blocked three red flags ago?

Was it a better fit? A more honest version of you? A newfound appreciation for the kind of peace that only comes when you’re no longer constantly bracing for disappointment? That’s not just a silver lining—that’s emotional alchemy. Turning disaster into “actually… that kinda worked out.”

You don’t need to be grateful for the whole ordeal. Seriously. You’re allowed to still be salty. But if you can dig through the mess and find even one little win—some clarity, some growth, some not-that-again wisdom—you’re doing more than just surviving. You’re learning. Evolving. And collecting receipts for the next time someone dares to hit you with, “Everything happens for a reason.” Because now? You’ve got the reason and the receipts.

Did it teach resilience? Spoiler alert: probably. But not in the cute, “look at me growing!” kind of way. More like, “I didn’t die, I didn’t commit arson, and I only cried in a Target parking lot twice this week—so I guess I’m stronger now?”

Let’s be honest—nobody chooses resilience. We earn it the hard way, by getting dragged through life’s obstacle course wearing emotional flip-flops and zero padding. It’s not sexy. It’s not inspirational Pinterest quote material. It’s raw, inconvenient, and usually involves caffeine, sarcasm, and a breakdown you later refer to as “a character-building moment.”

Because when life turns into a full-blown dumpster inferno, you don’t get time to center yourself and channel your inner goddess. You get panic, survival mode, and possibly a mild rash from stress. And yet—you. kept. going. You held it together (ish). You figured it out, one meltdown at a time. You adapted, problem-solved, cried, cursed, tried again, failed again, ordered Thai food at 2 a.m., and still showed up to your life like the resilient badass you didn’t even know you were.

And that’s the thing: resilience doesn’t mean you were unaffected. It means you were wrecked… and you rebuilt. It means you did the impossible while feeling like you were made of duct tape, caffeine, and increasingly unhinged voice notes to your best friend. It means you got stronger—not because you wanted to, but because you had to. And now? Now you walk a little taller. You trust yourself a little more. And you’ve got this unshakable, wild-eyed confidence that says, “Throw what you want at me—I’ve been through worse, and I have the receipts.”

So yeah. Life didn’t offer you the glow-up. It handed you grit, guts, and the kind of mental abs that only come from emotionally deadlifting your way through chaos. And you carried it all like the unmedicated legend you are.

You figured out how to function with a broken heart, a bruised ego, or a plan that imploded so spectacularly it deserves its own Netflix miniseries. And somehow, through the tears, the rage naps, and the rage cleaning, you didn’t fully unravel. You adapted. You duct-taped your life together, gave a half-hearted middle finger to the chaos, and kept it moving.

Sure, maybe you were held together by coffee, panic, and emotional memes—but guess what? You’re still here. And not just “here” in the barely-breathing, on-autopilot sense—you’re here with more wisdom, more boundaries, and an upgraded internal bullsh*t detector. You can now clock a walking red flag from 300 feet away and have the self-respect to not try to turn it into a craft project. That’s progress, baby.

You didn’t get that clarity from a self-help book or a vision board. You got it by being body-slammed by life and deciding, Fine. If I’m going down, I’m taking some lessons with me. You learned how to navigate grief, disappointment, rejection, and that one moment that still makes your left eye twitch—and somehow turn it into fuel.

So now’s the time to ask: what hard-earned wisdom did I drag out of that mess? What strength did I only discover when everything else was stripped away? Maybe you found your voice. Maybe you stopped shrinking to fit. Maybe you learned to say “no” without a follow-up apology or a 10-slide explanation. That’s not just growth—that’s main character energy forged in the fire.

You didn’t choose the storm, but you damn sure didn’t let it sink you. You leveled up. You’re tougher, wiser, and way less likely to entertain nonsense. And that, my friend, is the kind of badassery that can’t be taught—it has to be earned.

Did it help you discover an inner strength? Maybe. Or maybe it dragged that strength out of you by the ankles while you were just trying to make it through the emotional equivalent of a pop quiz in fire juggling… during an earthquake… while blindfolded. You weren’t looking for a personal breakthrough—you were just trying not to scream in public or spiral into a full identity crisis in the Trader Joe’s frozen aisle.

No one wakes up thinking, “Wow, I really hope today smashes my sense of control so I can meet the version of me who thrives under pressure!” And yet—bam—life hits you with a plot twist worthy of a soap opera and suddenly you’re in survival mode, discovering strengths you didn’t even know were in your toolbox. Like stubbornness. Like resourcefulness. Like the ability to make questionable choices and still bounce back with a little glitter and a lot of emotional bruises.

And let’s not underestimate the sheer sass stamina it takes to keep going when everything feels like a cosmic dare. Emotional core strength? Activated. Mental agility? Doing backflips. Existential humor? Weaponized. You became the kind of person who can cry and problem-solve simultaneously. Who can spiral and still hit deadlines. Who can say, “This is a disaster” while also figuring out what kind of wine pairs best with it.

So yeah, you didn’t sign up for the crash course in inner badassery—but you aced it anyway. You got stronger by being thrown into the deep end with no floaties and figuring out how to swim using sarcasm, spite, and maybe a playlist that could soundtrack a personal comeback montage.

You didn’t find your strength. You fought for it. You built it under pressure, in the dark, without a map. And now? You’re walking around with proof that even when everything goes sideways, you don’t. Not for long, anyway.

Maybe you found a level of chill in chaos that shocked even you. Like, who was that calmly sipping coffee while everything around them caught fire? Oh right—it was you, somehow channeling inner peace like a Zen monk on a deadline. Or maybe you discovered you could pivot so fast it defied physics—full-on caffeinated ballerina mode, pirouetting through crisis after crisis without even smudging your eyeliner.

Or maybe—plot twist—you realized something even wilder: you can feel utterly lost, overwhelmed, and emotionally held together by vibes alone… and still keep moving. That’s not just resilience. That’s survival with style. That’s being emotionally concussed and still figuring out how to file your taxes, respond to a vague “can we talk?” text, and remember to feed your houseplants.

Because when the sh*t hit the fan, you didn’t just sit in the wreckage—weeping, yes, but also adapting. Some dormant part of you logged in—some previously unexplored combo of grit, sass, and reluctant maturity—and suddenly you had new tools. You became resourceful. Strategic. Just a little dead inside, maybe, but with excellent time management.

So ask yourself: What part of me came online during this dumpster fire of a life phase? What wild, unexpected, possibly feral version of myself emerged when I had nothing left to lose but my last nerve?

Did you find your voice? Set a boundary? Say “no” without a 3-paragraph justification? Or just… stop trying to please everyone who would’ve let you burn for their comfort?

Because here’s the thing—you didn’t ask for the mess. You didn’t manifest the chaos. But when it showed up, you didn’t roll over. You rallied. You kept going. You became the kind of person who can rebuild and throw shade at the same time. And that says everything about who you are becoming—not just despite the storm, but because of it.

Okay, so you stared that challenge in the face. Maybe you screamed into a pillow. Maybe you rage-texted your group chat. Maybe you laid dramatically on the floor like a Victorian widow while muttering, “I simply cannot.” And yet—somehow—you’re still here. Still breathing. Still scrolling. Still piecing together whatever shambles life left behind like it’s a sad little Ikea project with half the screws missing.

Which means—sorry, not sorry—it’s time to dig a little deeper. Yeah, yeah, I get it. Your brain’s already side-eyeing this whole reflection thing like, “Can we not? Let’s binge a show and repress instead.” Tempting. But no. Because buried somewhere in the emotional fallout zone is something worth noticing. Maybe not a profound life lesson, but something. A weird little silver lining. A plot twist you didn’t see coming. A shred of growth you earned by crawling through the chaos in sweatpants and moral fatigue.

Let’s start there: the not-cringe silver linings. Not the fake-deep “everything happens for a reason” stuff—but the gritty, sarcastic, actually helpful kind. Maybe that door that slammed in your face (rude) saved you from walking into a flaming dumpster with Wi-Fi. Maybe that “dream” you were chasing was actually just a cleverly disguised burnout machine. Or maybe life straight-up ejected you from your comfort zone with the emotional subtlety of a cannonball—and yeah, it sucked, but maybe it shoved you somewhere better. Or at least less soul-sucking.

And let’s talk about the resilience part. Because no, it’s not just about waking up and slapping on some affirmations. It’s about dragging yourself through a full-blown emotional landslide, covered in metaphorical mud and still managing to reply to a coworker’s email without telling them where to shove their passive-aggressive smiley face.

You didn’t break. You bent. You spiraled. You maybe ate questionable things and neglected a few basic human functions for a hot minute—but you kept going. You stayed upright (ish). You leveled up emotionally, even if your vibe check came back as “barely holding it together but still kind of iconic.”

So now, go deeper: What did that dumpster fire teach you? What strength or clarity came out of that hot mess express you absolutely did not sign up for? Because the fact that you’re still here, reading this, reflecting at all? That’s not nothing. That’s proof you’re tougher than whatever came for you.

And if nothing else, you’ve now got material—emotional receipts, growth mileage, and the kind of hard-won insight that makes you an expert in bouncing back like a slightly cracked but beautifully seasoned human boomerang.

And let’s not forget those sneaky little strengths that showed up like surprise guests at the world’s worst party. The ones you didn’t ask for, didn’t expect, and definitely didn’t have a Pinterest board prepared for. Maybe you found patience—real patience, not the fake kind where you smile while internally plotting someone’s demise. Or maybe you managed to MacGyver your way through a meltdown using nothing but caffeine, blind optimism, and that one weird life skill you never thought would come in handy (shoutout to emotionally strategic crying and spontaneous Google sleuthing).

That’s inner strength, baby. Not the shiny, centered kind. The feral, backup-generator, “I’ll figure it out with duct tape and bad ideas if I have to” kind. The kind of strength that doesn’t show up until you’ve been absolutely wrecked and have no other option but to become resourceful or explode. And somehow? You didn’t explode. You evolved.

So now comes the real challenge: go back to that moment that absolutely tried to end you—emotionally, mentally, maybe even hygienically—and ask: What did it actually teach me about me? And I’m not talking about the cleaned-up, “I learned boundaries :)” version. I’m talking the gritty, possibly NSFW truth. What did you find in the wreckage that made you go, Oh damn. I didn’t know I had that in me?

Did you grow a spine? Finally stop apologizing for everything, including your own existence? Learn to say “no” like a boundary-setting rockstar instead of a guilt-riddled people-pleaser? Or maybe you just found out that you can absolutely fall apart and still get your sh*t done, mascara streaks and all.

Write that down. All of it. The messy, ridiculous, glorious truth of how you survived when it felt like everything was coming apart at the seams. Let it be raw. Let it be ugly. Let it have swears, pettiness, and exactly zero concern for whether it’s Instagram-worthy. Because journaling isn’t about sounding like a grounded forest fairy—it’s about documenting your own damn evolution. Your unhinged, unexpected, unstoppable glow-up from the wreckage.

So go ahead. Spill it. Make it weird. Make it loud. Make it yours. Because this is your proof that you really did that. Chaos and all.

So now it’s your turn. Write like no one’s reading—because honestly, no one should be unless they’ve earned the right to witness your unfiltered brilliance (unless you want to share with everyone on the Oneil Counseling app- we've got a whole group just to share bits of our guided journal entries). Swear if you need to. Be brutally honest. Be hilariously petty. Be proud of how you handled it—or at the very least, how you dragged yourself through it with a questionable snack routine and a playlist that got oddly intense.

You didn’t survive that chaos just to gaslight yourself into thinking it didn’t change you. So document the damn transformation. Even if you didn’t emerge as some serene, crystal-charged butterfly—maybe you came out as a slightly unhinged but wiser feral phoenix who now sets boundaries and burns bridges with intention.

Whatever it is—you earned it. Own it.

And as always, thanks for pushing play on Shrink Wrapped. Catch you next time, where we’re unpacking something else wildly uncomfortable- anxiety- but with snacks, probably a few swears, and absolutely zero toxic positivity.