Journaling
How I found it and why I never let it go
My first experience with writing was in elementary school. I am guessing there were writing tasks assigned in class, but most of my work happened after class. My best friend, Hermine, and I, in spite of spending every single day together at school, were in the habit of writing notes to each other every evening. In the morning, we would exchange the notes and the topics of discussion for the day began. You’d think we would run out of things to write about, especially at the tender age of 11, but no.
Those notes continued for at least a whole school year, and during vacation time we would find a way to keep up with each other on the phone and through play dates, when one of our parents were willing to drive us to the other’s house. We were the generation who was “integrated,” by being bussed from our neighborhood to another one during elementary school. We lived far enough away from each other that we couldn’t walk or ride our bikes.
In the middle of seventh grade, my Mom and I moved to another town, just the two of us. It wasn’t a great time for a kid to be uprooted, developmentally speaking, but I believe my writing helped me through it. I didn’t see Hermine very often after that, but the time we spent together as kids, and the pen pal relationship we developed even while living in the same town laid the foundation for the lifelong bond we still share.
My first formal introduction to writing was in High School. Among these were book reviews and opinion pieces, of course, but my favorite was “journaling.” One of my English teachers gave us a spiral notebook in which we were tasked to write whatever we wanted. I liked that part! No rules. No boundaries. Well, I suppose there were rules, but only the unspoken kind, like “don’t swear.” It was very similar to the notes I wrote to my friend a few years earlier, because I found it easy and natural to write. Looking back, I don’t remember what I wrote about, but I was diligent and I enjoyed the process. This shouldn’t have surprised me, but one doesn’t see these connections at such a young age.
Even as a child, putting my thoughts on paper was cathartic. In the notes I wrote to Hermine, I didn’t want to miss sharing anything! ALL of the thoughts, which for an eleven year old are probably mundane, silly and even irrelevant to anything useful in life, were on those pages. Putting them on paper ensured my day was complete. The highlight of the next day was reading her letter, and I know she looked forward to reading mine. We didn’t judge each other, or question the process. We just did it. Every day.
The English class journaling assignment wasn’t “published,” per se, and in fact was never read by another human being. Like the letters to my friend, the act of writing down what was swimming around in my brain helped keep me from dwelling on things that could have become BIG problems in my life. It was a chance to sit back and analyze, and problem solve. My day to day wasn’t DIFFICULT in any important sense, because I always had enough food to eat and roof over my head, but my family was complicated, as I am sure most are. There were struggles along the way, and I didn’t always find support at home. Like all teenagers, I was navigating complicated emotions, hormones, and natural consequences for sometimes idiotic behavior. Luckily, these usual teenage problems including parents, teachers, crushes, and the complexities of social structure didn’t become obsessions for me, and in hindsight, it could have been directly related to the fact that I was a writer. Even outside the classroom journaling, I was methodical about my writing. In fact, my first high school boyfriend made the mistake of reading my journal without my permission… and I dumped him. That was it. No discussion, just BYE. Harsh.
Although I don’t remember details about the subject matter of my journals or letters, I remember my process. First I wrote down anything and everything. It was usually just a big ol’ brain dump, followed by some ideas about what it all meant. On days when I wasn’t feeling it so much, I would just stop at the brain dump. I kept the habit even into adulthood. When my husband and I moved across the country recently, I opened some of my old journals before packing them. Rather than bring everything we own, we decided to thin our belongings, so I wanted to know if they were worth keeping. They were from a very difficult time in my life, (adulthood), which I would no sooner re-live than stick needles in my own eyes. It was uncomfortable reading about struggles that are now obsolete, but I was happy to realize in that moment how far I’ve come. Almost like a celebration, I donated those journals to the fire pit. Now that I’ve been through a few BIG things, I realize that healing comes with recognizing the feelings attached to events and working through them.
Although painful events can be healed quickly and fully with journaling, there is also a place for journaling the great things! The same teacher who gave us the assignment was a chaperone on a school trip to Europe. I was lucky enough to be one of the forty students to attend this trip. That adventure is another ten posts, at least, but the point is, journaling was an expectation. I was more than happy to comply! Turns out, not only was it fun to write about all the cool stuff we did, it was also REALLY helpful to reference the journal when I put the photo album together. That was one book I was happy to have kept!
Some of my writings over the years aren’t worth a second look, (OK…most of them), and that’s the way it should be. After all, even greatness is usually specific to one talent or event, not the whole of one’s existence. I suppose the constant writing made me a little better at it, but I wasn’t striving for greatness, I was just entertaining myself and inadvertently keeping myself rooted in reality. It’s much easier to detach from a problem and see it objectively when it’s written down. It helps me to problem solve and find creative ways to cope, which I have found is an invaluable skill in life.
I didn’t choose writing as a career, in spite of my passion. I was too practical for that, so I went into nursing. (There were other reasons, too, of course, I am not crazy enough to to choose nursing if I hated people)… I loved my career for the thirty years I did it, because it is so full of opportunity. Now, as I enter the newest phase of life, I see with 100% certainty that writing has been my constant companion and counselor. It helped me through a few terrible life experiences, and it also continues to keep me grateful for the abundance of amazing adventures.
Give it a try! With the back-to-school sales, notebooks should be a good deal! My hope is that your stories will help you the way mine have helped me.
