That is until, “Just make sure that what you’re writing is important,” she said. “You don’t want to be writing about just anything. Make sure it’s not boring.”
Those weren’t her words exactly but that’s how my child’s mind heard them and the wind immediately left my sails. Every time I opened my diary, my mom’s advice would echo in my head. What if what I was writing wasn’t interesting? Did it have to be interesting to just me or were others going to see it? If that were the case, how could I be totally honest?
I began to believe that my entries had to be perfect. I hated if I had to scratch out a word or if something was misspelled. I would always end my rants with, “Well I’m sure they had a good reason,” or “they really are nice enough.” Anything so that if the person I was complaining about happened across my diary, I could redeem myself.
I never felt I could be honest with questions I had about my life, school, boys, sex, even my mom’s passing. How could I pour out all of my thoughts and fears? It wasn’t appropriate. If someone were to read it, they wouldn’t understand.
Since I had nowhere to release my feelings, they quickly grew into issues concerning trust and my own self-worth. Nothing notable was happening to me so I had nothing compelling to write about. I’d save the pages until something remarkable happened. Something that I’d want to reread in the future. I’d never want to go back and read about how I’d had a crummy day at work or couldn’t find a date to prom. Diaries were for happy memories.
As I grew older I tried many times to start a journal; wanting something to do with all the extra thoughts in my head. I would go strong for a few days but quickly lose steam. I still had nothing exciting to put down. All I seemed to do was vent and it would just upset me more. What was distressing me was that I was writing for someone else and not for myself. It’s hard to work through anything when your main concern is how others will react to you.
At some point, during my quest to “fix” my issues, I realized how beneficial journaling could be. That other people actually did it daily. That if I wrote about what was upsetting me, I’d usually feel better by the end of the entry. I learned that journaling wasn’t just about me describing my day. It could be drawings or random words or even my own name written over and over.
I started doing Morning Pages and slowly stopped editing myself. I started to allow messy handwriting, then even a few misspellings here and there. I began to release worries, fears and joy without holding back.
A few weeks ago it really hit me: my journal is my safe place. I can write anything about anyone, myself or life and its fine. There’s no judgment, no opinion. My journal listens without reaction. It understands me even when I’m not being clear or viewing things slightly askew. It doesn’t need me to go back and edit or revise my run-on sentences. It knows exactly what I mean every single time and I can face it the next day without fear or embarrassment. I can just be me without any explanations or apologies. And that is a fabulous feeling.
__________
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/seanj/416528241/
###
If you want to learn how journaling can help you tackle life's challenges and be a safe place for exploring your feelings, please download the free eBook, The Journaling Guide to Manage The Stress and Strains of Life.
Are you new to journaling? Or are you an experienced journaler who wishes to restart a daily practice? The daily exercises in our Build a Lasting Journaling Practice in 14 Days self-paced course can help.