In a world filled with continual cacophony– incessant notifications, loud chatter, and even our own critical inner monologues, journaling allows us a chance to slow down and breathe. It has given me especially a space to write about anything, and everything, both positive and negative. And, honestly, it’s one of the few places where I can truly be myself.

You might be wondering–why journal? Well, there are a multitude of reasons to keep a journal. I could, or actually I ought to, list them, but despite my efforts, you might as well just toss this issue of HMN aside and forget about it. Be that as it may, I would still like to share with you my journaling experience.

Since I began journaling in October 2021, I have accumulated a sizable collection of sheets and faded ink that document recollections from numerous younger incarnations of myself. The first time I jotted down my feelings in a notebook, I was lost. I was experiencing what I consider the hardest period of my life, and I was unable to come to terms with my feelings. I felt like I couldn’t communicate anymore, so I wrote. And wrote. And wrote. Over and over and over.

Many find journaling therapeutic—a judgement-free zone where it’s just you and the pages of your journal. I completely agree. Journaling is like having a conversation with yourself. You get to share anything and everything with it, and you don’t need to  worry about what the journal thinks—mostly because it’s inanimate, but you get my point.

Anyways, I’ll get back to what I was saying. On October 7th, I scrawled 14 pages of my life on paper. After writing, I tucked the small book away in my closet, and left it to be forgotten. The next time I discovered it was in December, and things felt like they weren’t improving. So, once again, I wrote. And once again, I left the journal buried, and forgot about it.

Another month passed, and I had hit rock bottom. I can’t pinpoint it exactly, but I  do recall that feeling of hopelessness, like my spark had vanished. Maybe this is an over exaggeration, I really can’t tell for sure, but I thought I had nothing left. Now this is becoming quite cliche, but yet again, I found that dusty journal and wrote. But this time, I didn’t stop.

Somehow, for a year, I managed to write every single day. And no, my problems weren't miraculously resolved. However, I felt different over time. I had undergone significant growth and transformation. An added benefit came along as well: journaling had sparked a love for writing within me.

I had managed to find calm in the solitude that came with journaling.  I eventually found that journaling allowed me to express not only my repressed rage but also my aspirations, my “big ideas,” and all of the highs and lows I experienced. I found happiness through a tiny aspect of my life, which has now grown to be a significant aspect of who I am.

In a way, journaling saved me. It really did. I don’t know where I might’ve been today if I didn’t have the chance to simply “write it out.” Every time I flip the pages of my very first journal, I’m reminded of my progress. My journals hold invaluable meaning to me, and have–in a way–come to turn into a haven for me.

Now, if you’re still wondering about why you should journal, I’ll just say this: It has nothing to do with finding the proper words or crafting flawless phrases. It’s about being there for yourself, one entry at a time.  It's about having something to help you breathe and figuring out how to handle your feelings. It's about putting your most treasured experiences on paper, or as I like to say, living life on paper!

Written by Daphne Clarke.
Edited by Marlee Potter.
Proofread by Sara Rowan.