I quit journaling 8 years ago. It was shortly after my aunt died unexpectedly at age 39. As I watched the family go through her things trying to piece together details of her life, I made a subconscious shift to quit writing at the end of the day. Most of the words I put down were to voice the internal struggle in relationships, career and pain-points I couldn’t seem to get past. The constant navel gazing was nauseating and God-forbid something happened to me and my family read the journals. My therapist advised against me quitting. She knew I needed outlets for my mental and emotional health. The definition of emotion is “energy in motion” and writing is one way to keep emotions flowing. It’s not “bad” that we feel things it’s that we don’t keep the feelings flowing. When they get “stuck” we pay the consequences in many ways, but for me in particular it’s a physical manifestation. I didn’t know a lot of this back then and decided to live more and think less. The experiment would be good for me. Or, so I thought.
I replaced personal journaling where I could let the freak flag fly and replaced with processing my internal state on social media. It wasn’t an intentional move, it was one of convenience. The trend of oversharing on Instagram had picked up in popularity and I desperately wanted to find a voice on that platform. That season quickly came to an end when I realized how intensely private I am. The desire to work hard curating (gag me with a spoon) a life enticing enough to attract followers, paid ads, etc. exhausted me quickly. I went from having an outlet for my thoughts to becoming what I knew best … an entertainer with a private account. So where did my words go?
Letters.
My best friend Sarah lived two hours away and instead of writing in journals, I wrote to her. Having a witness to my life in letters was cathartic and healing. Our friendship was one in which I could write the deepest truth within myself and she could complete my revelation with even more truth. This symbiotic relationship continued for years until, like the tides of most intimate communication goes, it ended. Since then I have been mute. My words don’t carry the weight they did before or perhaps, worse case scenario, they don’t have meaning without her there echoing back. I have a backlog to share and since energy must stay in motion, I have created something new.
I am no longer journaling.
I don’t over share on social media.
I haven’t sent a letter in years.
I am now writing down not what I want to get out, I’m writing down what I know. I am celebrating where I have come from instead of writing down where I’m behind. There is a list at the end of the day that looks a lot like a massive pat on the back instead of a dumpster fire. Guess what I have noticed? A shift in my self awareness. I am no longer someone who must accomplish a to-do list to feel successful or have revelations larger than the B-I-B-L-E, I am someone who is recognizing what I offer the world on a daily basis. I am my own witness.
I’m changing the emotional landscape around traditional journaling to attract what I want more of and acknowledge what I’m capable of.
Can I coach you to do the same?
Ask yourself these questions at the end of the day:
How did I help others today?
What unique gifts do I offer the world and how did they show up today?
Did someone compliment me?
When did I surprise myself with what I knew?
How can I offer that knowledge again tomorrow?
Energy begets energy. Start with celebrating your own damn self and see what happens. Then let me know about it.
xoxo, shea