As we embark on a new year, many of us are drawn to the idea of cultivating new habits, such as establishing a consistent journaling practice. Yet, I’m choosing to step away from this beloved ritual, a decision that may surprise some.
For nearly three decades, journals have been a constant companion, a confidante, a sanctuary where I could pour out my heart without judgment. Journaling has been a huge part of my life.
They have been a witness to my triumphs and my sorrows, my deepest fears and my wildest dreams. Within their pages, I’ve navigated heartbreak, adventure, celebrated victories, and captured and explored the ever-shifting currents of my life within and around me. I’m sure other prolific journal-writers reading this will share this sentiment.
I vividly remember the day my childhood best friend gifted me my first journal as I headed off to boarding school in 1996. That hard-cover book with a bouquet of flowers on the front became a way to support myself within the new world I was facing. Over the years, my dedication to journaling deepened. In the past eight years alone, I’ve filled almost 11, 240 pages of Moleskins, a volume that is testament to the importance of this practice in my daily and broader life.
In my 20-year career as a corporate brand marketing and communication professional, I found that journaling enhanced my self-awareness and sharpened my communication skills. The act of reflecting on my thoughts and feelings helped me articulate my ideas more effectively and build stronger relationships with colleagues, leaders, and team members. It even improved my relationship with performance review cycles, as I began to see them as opportunities for objective self-reflection and valuable feedback from others instead of an experience to fear. They quickly became a fertile ground for meaningful conversations with company leaders about my career
In my marriage, journaling has been invaluable. When big feelings arise, I use my journal to process them before engaging in a (healthier) conversation with my husband, leading to more constructive and compassionate conversations.
During Melbourne’s lockdowns in 2020, I purchased a beautiful journal online from a small print press in Perth, Western Australia, specifically for documenting that unique period. Titled “That Time We Had To Stay Home,” it provided a space to capture seemingly insignificant memories like which shows I was binging, popular memes circulating, isolation rituals, and also to cultivate gratitude amidst the endless uncertainty. It’s easy to forget the details from that liminal time, but I have this sweet record forever.
Importantly, journaling has been a crucial tool in my (long) journey of mental and emotional well-being. Struggling with 20-plus years of panic disorder, anxiety, and depression, I found great solace in expressing my emotions and exploring my inner world on the page. Journaling provided a safe space to process my difficult emotions, identify patterns, and develop self-compassion.
And yet, as I embark on a new chapter, I feel a gentle nudge to step away from my daily journaling practice. This isn’t a rejection of the endless benefits I’ve received but rather a recognition that my relationship with this beloved tool has evolved.
This is hugely significant for me; I don’t know a version of myself where journaling isn’t part of my day.
But the subtle shifts have been there. Finding myself reaching for my journal as a default, sometimes avoiding other important activities like a morning stretch or writing a LinkedIn post. While journaling has been a source of immense self-awareness, I wonder if it’s inadvertently become a crutch, a safe haven that prevents me from fully engaging with the world around me, and keeps me from leaning more consistently into addressing my fear of being seen publicly.
As I sat with thi
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