I am somewhat of a Journaling Expert. Didjaknow. I have kept a very diligent journal the last four years and it has made the difference between being completely lost, and making the right decisions for myself.
But it wasn’t always this way.
Two days ago I shared my rules to Get The Most out of Your Journal. Today I’d like to share the personal experiences that led me to make these rules. If you’ll allow me to start at the beginning…
From the time I was born my mom kept a journal for me full of important dates and experiences and my general attitude towards such things. This turned out to be the best gift she’s ever given me and something I will most definitely do for my children.
When I turned 8 I got my very first journal. (This is also when my mom stopped keeping one for me.)
I wrote in that first journal sporadically and, let’s face it, the whole thing is completely boring with nothing more than practicing writing my name and a list of who my friends were. (One, I had one friend)
As I got older there were lists of all the boys I liked and stories about how they had talked to me. I honestly can’t even reread this journal because I am too embarrassed for my pathetic 13 year old self.
But then, somewhere in Jr. High something happened that set the tone for my journal for the next 10 to 13 years.
My parents got in a really big fight and they were talking about divorce. During this time I was also pretty mad at my dad about something. I made a big pros and cons list about them getting divorced. After concluding that they should, in my opinion, get divorced, I wrote all about how I thought my dad was terrible and we’d be better off without him.
About a week later everything was fine and all discussion of divorce was over. My dad and I were getting along as we always had and I was riddled with guilt. I felt terrible betraying him in my journal.
That’s when I did myself the biggest disservice to the validity of all my future journals. I went to the book and ripped out the pages containing my treasonous words and vowed that from that point forward I would never write anything bad in my journal ever again. I felt that it wasn’t fair to say things when I was angry that would be written down forever.
Fast forward 12 years or so and I found myself in a really bad situation in my marriage. At the age of 25 I was contemplating divorce and I wasn’t sure what to do. I read through my journals to try to gauge how long things had been going on and how bad it really was.
Nothing.
There wasn’t a single word in there about anything negative. I specifically remember not writing down negative things because I didn’t want our kids to look back and know the shenanigans their father had gotten into. In fact, during things that I remember as being particularly awful, my journal entries were all about how I needed to try harder and how I wasn’t being a good wife. I beat myself up in my journals trying to make myself better.
This was hardly helpful to me during a time that I was counting on some evidence to fuel my critical thinking.
And that’s when I decided to be honest with myself. I realized that lying about how things actually were did not make them better. It just made it so that I couldn’t read back and notice patterns and trends.
That’s when I realized that I had to be honest with my journals and myself. If I couldn’t be honest in my journal, who WAS I honest with?
Since then I have grown so attached to my journal and have filled its pages with both the wonderful and the terrible. It’s an honest documentation of everything I’ve ever thought or felt along with stories about fantastic and awful things I’ve done. It really has been a beautiful tool to help me guide myself in the right direction.
I encourage everyone I talk to who is struggling with something to write it down. Even if they never set their eyes on it again, just the process of writing down honest and true feelings will work magic on their troubles.
**After I die my kids are going to be traumatized by all they learn about their beloved mother. Better burn them before I kick the bucket**
***My Journals, not the kids***




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