Many years ago, at a sleepover, I picked up an adult’s diary and began to read. I got as far as the first sentence before slamming it shut and carefully replacing it on the shelf. The person who penned those opening lines couldn’t possibly be the same person who’d earlier bought me an ice-cream cone! I knew the adage “you can’t judge a book by its cover” but surely if someone smiled all the time, they couldn’t simultaneously endure such inner turmoil, could they? Fast forward to the present moment. If you were to reach onto my (secret, hidden) bookshelf and pull down any one of my leather journals, the first words you would read would be: BURN ME. Mine is a life of adversary, jealousy and mountains of insecurity… at least according to the crazy diatribe that is my diary. Like millions of others, I’m not alone trying to make sense of the world and my place in it by pushing words onto a page. But, loathe to offer up my unedited ramblings for general consumption, allow me instead to direct you to some brave souls who aren’t afraid to open their hearts and minds and offer some worthy reflections in the midst of this dark mid-winter.