26 Years in 29 Books

Twenty-six years ago, for my seventh birthday my favorite aunt gifted me my first diary, compete with combination lock. It was pink, had a bear on it, and each page was broken in to two entries. I wrote horrible things about my mom and sister, lamented elementary atrocities, and sometimes included some very terrible sketches of faces crying. While obviously quite melodramatic, even at such a young age I found a great deal of catharsis in writing down my feelings. And so it stuck. 

Over the years, I have been made fun of for writing in a journal, in jest and out of spite. But if people knew how much in therapy these books have saved me over the years, they might be a little quieter. Writing has gotten me through awkward teenage years, insecurities, my parents' troubles, my dad's suicide, issues with siblings, problems with money, job concerns, homesickness, troubled relationships, moments of depressing and anxiety, difficulties conceiving- I could go on and on. My life could be far, far worse, but there have been some sizable bumps in the road. Reflecting through journal writing has helped me organize my thoughts and create plans to move forward (and usually at least three additional contingency ones).

People often ask me if I go back and read them- I don't. For me, keeping a journal is about the immediate expression and the release of emotions, rather than the ability to review the past. The few times I have looked back (minus the first one, it's hilarious, but I was so young) I am absolutely horrified. The only advantage is seeing that most of life's worries are fleeting; something that seemed like the END OF THE WORLD was often resolved six months or a year later. The older I get the more I remember this, but I wish I could have told myself this from the ages of about ten to thirty-one. 

My habits have varied greatly. There are stretches when I am younger that go for weeks and weeks of no writing, while there have been times where I have had to write twice a day. I mostly write about the negatives in life, and I often write lists as opposed to lengthy paragraphs. Currently I try to write for at least five minutes every night, just to stay grounded and reflect on where I'm at on a day-to-day basis (for those who are trying to develop this habit, this is my biggest piece of advice- just set aside a reasonable amount of time for your life every day or two and stick to it for a month).

I joke that I want to be buried with my journals when I die, but I'm guessing by the time I croak I'll have like 90 books and I don't think they'll be room in my coffin (what am I saying? I want to be cremated and have my ashes illegally thrown off Half Dome). I am lucky enough to trust my husband to not read them, so if I go first he will just have to figure out how to dispose of them. I definitely don't want them published (as I will clearly be famous enough for people to care to read them), nor do I want them treated like a family heirloom. I probably should have a real plan at some point. 

So, yes, this is my defense of journaling but also my not-so-humble pat on my own back about sticking to a hobby for so long. I'll end this with a quote someone forwarded to me a long time ago about journaling that I couldn't agree with more:

"[Journaling] is like whispering to one's self and listening at the same time"- Mina Murray (Dracula)