Dolly Reads Her Old Diary — “I Forgot How Much That Girl Hoped…”
It was tucked away in a wooden box, under letters, faded photos, and scraps of old songs that never made it to a record. A little diary, bound in red leather, worn at the edges and tied with a ribbon she barely remembered tying.
Dolly sat down on the edge of her bed, the room quiet, the light soft. And for the first time in decades… she opened it.
The first page was written in pencil. Slanted handwriting. Curvy, rushed. So full of feeling, she could almost hear that young girl’s voice again.
“Dear Diary, I don’t know if I’ll ever be famous, but I hope I make people feel something when I sing.”
She smiled. Then wiped her eye.
That girl — barefoot in the Smoky Mountains, hair a mess, heart wide open — still lived inside her.
Only now, she had seen the world. She had lost people. She had gained everything… and given a lot of it away.
“Mama said I have too many dreams in my head. But I think dreams are what God gave us when the world gets too hard.”
She turned the pages slowly, like peeling back layers of herself.
One page had a dried flower taped to it.
Another had lyrics scribbled in the margins — raw, awkward, but honest.
There were entries about her first heartbreak.
About the boy who said she talked too much.
About the night she heard her daddy crying in the barn and didn’t know why.
And again and again — hopes. Always hopes.
“Someday, I want to have a house full of music. And if I’m lucky, someone to share it with who loves the real me.”
She closed the book for a moment.
Not because it hurt —
but because it humbled her.
All these years later, after fame, fortune, grief, joy, glitter and gospel…
the most precious thing was not the spotlight.
It was the reminder that she kept her promise to that little girl.
“She was scared. She was soft. But she believed in something. And you know what? I still do.”
Dolly Parton didn’t just read her diary that day.
She held hands with the girl she used to be —
and whispered,
“You made it. And you’re still you.”