When I was younger, I journaled a lot. It was my way of processing my feelings that had nowhere else to be released as well as unconditionally and lovingly accepted. I would write in my notebook with fervor, trying to capture my adolescent problems in barely legible writing.
I’d start my entries with a simple “Dear Journal.” But why? Who was Journal? Was I really addressing my wide-ruled notebook?
Journal became my confidante, my friend, the one who knew me best. They were everything and nothing but certainly more than just a notebook. I might as well have written “Dear God” or “Dear Spirit” because, looking back now, I wrote as if I was speaking to a larger than life force.
When I wrote “Dear Journal,” I summoned an entity to witness my experience. I was only able to share so much with Journal because they were going to accept me no matter what I felt. They held space for me, listened and allowed me to work through my thoughts without rushing me. How I wish everyone had a Journal in their lives.
I write everyday because it allows me to voice what is at the surface. Once that is out of my head, I can dig in another layer deeper. My daily writing practice has been my greatest exploration of self and humanity. Sign up here to receive these thought nuggets in your inbox on the daily.