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I have shared on more than one occasion that I see my writing as glorified journaling.

My journaling started with a blue, wide-ruled Mead notebook back in fourth grade. Throughout my youth and teenage years, my journal was my confidante, and I shared my most pressing problems and important thoughts. When I read those thoughts now, they seem trivial and immature. That is because I have grown. But those feelings were an important part of my growth.

The glory in writing lies as much in the future reading of it as much as in the experience of writing it. My journals are time capsules to emotions and memories that are long gone.

Reading that writing allows me to bear witness to me again. In the writing process, I feel seen and heard even though no one is there beside me. Reading it much later on shows me where I’ve been and how growth is very much part of the journey.

One of the biggest reasons I write how I write is because I have journaled since 4th grade. Writing provided me an outlet to express thoughts that had nowhere else to go. So much of my emotional development occurred on the wide-ruled pages of my Mead notebook journals. I very much see this blog as glorified journaling.

The other big reason I write how I write is because, growing up, most of the people in my house didn’t speak or read English. Journaling was safe because I never feared any backlash or judgement.

Tonight, my oldest child read my blog. It was emotional to see her scrolling through and taking in the words that are often inspired by her or her siblings. They are usually slumbering 10 feet from me in our dimmed bedroom as the thoughts I have throughout the day come spilling out during the late evening hours.

Watching her read my words, I realized that I was no longer writing in private. Yes, I know I have readers (thank you!) but it is quite different when these intimate thoughts are read by those who are closest to me.

I started to wonder – will I change the way I write now that I know she may log into my site at any point?

I am proud to say the conclusion was no.

After hearing some advice on a podcast or in a book many years ago, I set an intention to only write my story on this blog – not my kids’ or my partner’s or anyone else’s. I know that each of the posts on this site are true to me. My children reading them does not change my truth.

And so today, another page is turned on this path of creating. I am so excited and a little nervous about my kids reading these words. And yet, I know this is very much part of my legacy, an extension of my parenting and an example to them to unapologetically be who they are in every space they occupy.

I half-jokingly describe my writing as glorified journaling.

As I shared yesterday, I journaled from a young age and would address and summon “Journal,” a larger than life spirit that wholly accepts my deepest thoughts without judgement or ridicule. Journal is an entity that is almost 30 years in the making, and while I no longer start my writing with “Dear Journal,” it is still very much the spirit in how I write and my heart and mind bring them in as I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard.

My glorified journaling is my art. That is still hard for me to say but the self expression that comes out is the equivalent of leaping expressively across stage, playing a riveting concerto or painting a breathtaking watercolor. When I go back to re-read my writing, I am often surprised by what words have come together and made their way onto paper. I even question if it was my writing at all, like in this piece.

In wondering how my words come to life, I realize it is almost as if that Journal/God/Spirit has held that space for me. It is only through the relationship that I am able to write, and the interplay of my entering that space allows my words to flow and for that spirit to speak through me.

So who is the creator? Me or Spirit? Is there anyway to really differentiate between my and their contribution? And ultimately, does it really matter?