My Personal Adventures in Journaling
“Journal writing, when it becomes a ritual for transformation, is not only life-changing but life-expanding.” – Jennifer Williamson
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One of the most cherished gifts I received as a young girl was a small cream-colored, cloth-covered book with pages edged in shiny gold. On the front, in bold embossed print, was its title, “Diary.” But its greatest feature by far was the fancy gold-toned lock and matching key designed to safeguard the book’s precious contents.
Unfortunately, that lock and key turned out to be of no true benefit to me since the diary’s contents never surpassed the grand total of three sparse entries I managed to scratch into it, none of which were truly worth keeping a close-guarded secret behind lock and key. While I did make a few more half-hearted attempts at keeping a journal after that, my true adventures in journaling did not begin in earnest until many years later. And it all started with a plain and simple red spiral notebook and the need to create a bit of order out of a bunch of chaos.
As the mother of two tykes under the age of three at the time, I had recently made the transition from Corporate America’s world of meetings and mergers to one of play dates, mom’s groups, and toys and tots galore. Gone were the days of my carefully and meticulously maintained leather bound day planner. Instead, in the midst of the chaos that was my life at that time, I’d been lucky to get the chance to jot down half a thought in a small notepad stuffed in the back pocket of my diaper bag or on a piece of scrap paper I kept stashed in my kitchen catch-all drawer.
In the fall of that particular year I received an invitation to join a prayer group at church, one that led to the need for something in which to record session notes. After a cursory search, I found something I thought might meet my needs, a 9 1/2 by 7-inch 3-subject spiral notebook with a matte brick red-colored cover.
For the first few months after its purchase, that notebook simply served as a repository for my daily prayer requests. However, soon after, it became the keeper of so much more. Ultimately, it provided a much-need place to get the many swirling thoughts out of my head and onto the page as well as the space in which to examine them more closely. Like pieces of a puzzle, in that journal, I was able to move those thoughts around, view them from different angles, readjust them until they clicked into place, and see the bigger picture they presented with much more clarity.
As my journaling practices changed and grew over time, so did my journal collection. Almost two decades later, that now battered and worn red spiral notebook is but one of a vast collection of well over twenty other journals in various colors, shapes, and sizes that offers a veritable treasure trove of memories and musings, lamentations and jubilations, ponderings and mental wanderings.
During the summer of 2013, my journaling efforts took a bit of a detour when I embarked upon an unexpected two-year journey with an unwanted travel companion, the dreaded “C” word, Cancer. Shortly after my diagnosis, I felt strongly led to start an online journal as a way to share the details of my journey with others as well as the silver linings I encountered along the way. Through this experience, I discovered and experienced the amazing therapeutic benefits of journaling as well as the incredible healing power of writing.
As an added bonus, I learned from my audience that my writing offered them hope and encouragement. So, when my cancer journey ended, a new one began. One fueled by a dream to share my experiences through the gift of writing in the form of a blog and eventually a book as a means to inspire others and bring joy to their lives. Unfortunately and all too soon, the daily demands of life, the world, and the expectations of others, both real and imagined, got in the way of my dreams and I began to slowly but surely drift off course. And the writing that was once a great joy to me became a heavy burden instead.
By the end of 2019, I felt as though I had run aground and was in dire need of a major course correction. So I turned to my journal and began making some headway until I was unexpectedly swept out to sea in mid-March of the following year with yet another unwanted travel companion and another dreaded “C” word, the COVID pandemic. Unable to keep my own head above water at that point in time, the very last thing I felt like doing was sharing the details of this journey with others like I had previously. Why? Because my battles to that point left me tired, battered, and broken. And I just wasn’t sure whether I had the stamina to endure yet another, nor the wherewithal to even begin to think about what, if any, silver linings might exist. Simply put, I was drowning. So I turned inward instead.
Through the dark, early days of the pandemic, I felt as though I had washed up on my own deserted island with no hope of rescue. And no desire to be. So I poured my heart out in writing. My journal became my counselor, my coach and therapist, my dumping ground and confidant and, ultimately, my life-line and life-saver. Eventually, I was able to acknowledge and once again accept that there is joy to be found in the journey. If you choose to seek it, that is. So I made the choice to view my island not as a prison, but an oasis. One that offered me the time and space to journal for self-exploration and healing. And journaling served as my lifeboat off that island.
.During this particular journey I also came to the enlightening discovery that the true gift of writing can be found in the process, not the outcome. And that the true gift I have to offer is not necessarily in the sharing of the outcome of my writing efforts through a blog or a book. No, the true gift I have to share with others is the hope-filled, healing, and encouraging process of writing through the practice of journaling. An empowering practice available to each and every one of us. One that can lead to self-discovery, improvement, growth… and joy.
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