I’ve been journaling since I was 11. And I can’t stop.

It’s not that I can’t stop. It’s that I don’t want to stop. And why should I?!

When I published a post about my lifelong love of journaling, I knew it wouldn’t hit the mark. My inability to describe what personal writing in a notebook or a journal means to me is similar to my inability to write about how much I love my daughter: the words don’t do the love justice.

Let's go back to the beginning. Writing for me started before I went to school. I made my own storybooks out of folded greetings cards with paper stapled inside. But my feverish journaling started in the same way it begins for many: puberty. The hormones raged like a hot rash and I needed an outlet for my out-of-control introspection.

Luckily for me, puberty is a distant (albeit vivid) memory. I’m now a mum, a wife (I don’t feel fully comfortable with that word), a teacher, a writer and many other things such as a sister and friend. Yet my reasons for journaling are not so different to what they used to be — I’m still keen to understand myself, others, my relationships with others and the unfolding of the different narratives in my life.

I thought I would share these reasons here, in another attempt to show why I hold journal writing so dear to me.

My journal is a playground for identities

Through writing, I inhabit different parts of myself. I get to find out what these various aspects of myself are thinking and what their motivations and longing are. Why do I want to say/do/experience this thing? Why does this person, place or idea fascinate me?

I can show up on the page in ways that might not feel safe in the outside world. I can express things that I don't even know are true without anyone holding me to what I said. It doesn't matter if I express something I'm not sure about. My journal is a place where I can try it all out it, try it all on.

My journal houses dialogues

Sometimes I’m stuck, confused, scared or uncertain how to progress. I don’t know what to say, how to navigate a relationship or how to live true to my values. In my journal, I'm able to have imaginary conversations with people (real or imagined). By writing out a dialogue or a dilemma, I may come to a conclusion or at least understand myself better. Sometimes writing leads to more questions which help me explore further possibilities.

My journal lightens my loneliness

Overall, I’m not lonely. But sometimes I feel lonely. Sometimes I feel really lonely, like when I'm struggling with the harder-to-talk about aspects of my mental health problems. Whilst I am lucky that I have people in my life who want (and are able to) to hear my thoughts, I'm scared of talking 'too much'. With my journal, I never have to be scared of overwhelming others. It's very hard to overwhelm a piece of paper. In fact, I've never yet managed to.

My journal does not judge

It doesn’t matter what I express, or how wildly I express anything. There are no repercussions because the relational aspect of a journal is fictional: an imagined reader? I find this strangely fulfilling.

During years of serious mental health problems, I told the page about my terror and how isolating it felt to live with these fears. Sometimes when I did speak out people told me to ‘stop being so dramatic’, that I should be able to sort it out myself because I was 'clever' or just plain didn't believe me because of the way I presented outwardly. The page never once thought I was joking, told me to shut up or to grow a thicker skin.

My journal gives me strength

I use my journal to encourage myself. I have plenty of moments when I think I might not be able to do what I need or want to do. I'm scared of many things, but I also do many things that make me feel scared. All day I was worried about going to a party tonight, but I went nonetheless and I had a great time once I got there.

I have many moments when things feel impossible and I need to sit with those feelings and carry on regardless. Returning to my journals, I see many times I was scared of failing and went on to succeed. I see many times when I feared disconnection from people I love, but it wasn't real. The people were there for me, just like the sun when it's gone out of sight behind the clouds. It's still there, even when you can't see it.

My journal contains life narratives

I’ve been writing more or less consistently since I was eleven. Various threads of my life are captured in my words. A question I often ask myself is how much of my life was created by my writing? I sometimes think I've written my life, as it is today, into existence.

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Here’s an old photo of some of my journals and other papery items. If I believed in such a thing as love languages, then maybe paper would be my love language. Over the coming weeks and months, I plan to write more about my papery life— my pen pal friendship, love affair with zines and why I think collage is especially therapeutic.

Some of my journals, notebooks and sketchbooks

I recently bought several second-hand books about reflective writing which I cannot wait to dig into.

• Reflective Writing by Gillie Bolton (it's a re-read, I read this during my teacher training)

• The Therapeutic Potential of Creative Writing by Gillie Bolton (again, it's a re-read. I read this when I was in my twenties).

• At a Journal Workshop by Ira Progoff

Just a few weeks ago I completed the manuscript of my second book on life with a diagnosis of BPD and since then I've felt the pull of writing longer entries in my notebook. Thanks to journaling, I find out what I want— not what the world wants me to want.

And right now I want to find my next writing project and see where that takes me...

Rosie x