What Journaling Has Taught Me

What Journaling Has Taught Me

The reoccurrences in my journals and what they mean to me.

A lot of people may think that journaling isn’t worth the time and won’t be beneficial to them. I admit, I’ve gotten out of the habit too, but it’s something that I’m trying to push myself back into doing. Going all through middle school and high school, I kept a diary or journal, often writing about things that happened.

My journal was my place to vent and express how I felt. No one else would ever read them and I could get how I felt on the paper. Honestly, it took me a while to be able to start writing honestly. I always felt like someone would see what I was writing and judge me or it, but I realize that my journals were for me. I needed to let myself feel, and my journal was there for that relief.

I’ve been going through some of my older journals and found a few important common themes in them:

No matter what was going on, there were always friends that I could count on.
Family was something that was always important to me.
I often copied conversations that either hurt or helped me the most. The breakups, the apologies—those were the ones that seemed the most important to remember.
I documented the ups and downs I had throughout middle and high school.
The first relationship, the first kiss and the first break up were moments I wrote about that then kept reappearing in later journal.
The same people proved to reappear in multiple journals—friends, family, the ex.
I’m just as scared of losing people now as before.
I’ve always tried to push myself to do the best in school which caused stress.
There were always those TV shows like "Glee" that I would write about to relate too.
Each journal had what I was too afraid to say at the time.

Writing has always been something that I’ve found important to do. I like being able to look back at journals and remember the party in seventh grade where I had goldfish and cupcakes being blindly thrown in my direction, or the gym classes where volleyballs were on purposely hit at my head. I like remembering being at the beach with my family and friends and knowing that those trips still mean everything to me. I like seeing how far my ex and I have come and how I was so scared of losing him and, while I hate to admit it, still am. It’s nice to be able to look back on the events that changed me and pushed me towards becoming who I am now.

I’ve grown so much, thanks to those moments. The ones that hurt and the ones that made me laugh and smile. Each and every moment goes into making me who I am and it’s something that I’ll always want to be able to look back upon. I can compare how I am now to who I was back then and future me will be able to see how my time in college has changed me.

To me, journaling is one of the greatest ways to measure who I am and who I was. It’s something that I hope to always do whether I’m journaling every day or once a month. No amount of writing is too little or too much to me.

So thank you, Mom, Dad, Marcus, Monika, Katherine, Elizabeth, Alex, my other middle school friends, my Towson friends, and my whole family, for always giving me something to remember and write about.

Cover Image Credit: Amanda Jean Thomas

Popular Right Now

Recruiters, Why Don't You Just Meet Me In The Middle?

I'm Losing My Mind, Just A Little.

Playing the "The Middle" by Zedd for the actual 29th time, windows down, spirits high, driving down I-575 to the ol' KS of U: the life of a graduating senior ain't half bad. When you're chugging full speed ahead on your collegiate victory lap, there isn't much to complain about. Right?

Yeah, RIGHT. Apparently juggling 18 credits, a part-time job, and a diligent job hunt isn't considered an extreme sport. And trust me, nobody wants to hear you complain along the way. Not your older co-workers, because they swear up and down that "The college years? Oh, they're the best years." Even turning to your parents is a bust, cause, well.. Mom's tired of putting you up and doing your damn laundry.

But by the 30th replay of my new favorite jam, I had been lulled into circling The Blake round-da-bout 3.5 times. At that very moment I was hypnotized into believing that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Marren Morris had written an ode to all the anxiety-ridden job-seeking seniors across America, in the form of a power-pod-ballad.

It goes a little something like this...

In an awkward moment mid-interview, Maren begins hysterically crying from the pressure of landing her dream job. The interviewer politely asks her to step into the hall...

Take a seat
Right over there, sat on the stairs
Stay or leave
The cabinets are bare, and I'm unaware
Of just how we got into this mess, got so aggressive
I know we meant all good intentions

Maren is spiraling and in total denial about wrecking her best chance at a well-paying entry-level job...

So pull me closer
Why don't you pull me close?
Why don't you come on over?
I can't just let you go

Upon arriving back home, Maren plans to work through it like an adult, with wine. Instead, in a fit of rage she has a full blown melt down in her kitchen...

Ohh, take a step
Back for a minute, into the kitchen
Floors are wet
And taps are still running, dishes are broken
How did we get into this mess? Got so aggressive
I know we meant all good intentions

As she tearfully lurks through LinkedIn, her interviewer's face pops up as a suggested connection...

Looking at you, I can't lie
Just pouring out admission
Regardless of my objection
And it's not about my pride
I need you on my skin
Just come over, pull me in, just

Recruiters, we're all flailing our arms and tanking our GPAs, all in hopes of showing you we mean business...

So why don't you just meet me in the middle, middle
In the middle, middle

Genius, Maren. Simply genius.

Cover Image Credit: YouTube

Related Content

Connect with a generation
of new voices.

We are students, thinkers, influencers, and communities sharing our ideas with the world. Join our platform to create and discover content that actually matters to you.

Learn more Start Creating

The Trouble With A Writer's Brain, A Humorous Account

Words, Words, Words

I’m supposed to be writing something right now. Admittedly, I was supposed to be writing something at least four days ago.

But of course that something never turned into the something I needed to write. Why can’t I just write what I need to write and get it over with? Honestly. Not cool, muse.

Well, I say “muse.” Really I should just be blaming myself, ‘cause frankly, I don’t even know what a muse is supposed to be. A person? Yourself? Your cat? The mysterious and terrifying depths of the ocean? A houseplant?

Should I write

poetry, not


Maybe I should try something like. Really out there. Like—okay, I don’t even know what the fuck that would mean.

should i try n be edgy n forget grammar like e e cummings

Nope, I’m pretty sure my school-trained self just tried to claw her—their? His?—eyes out. Ugh, pronouns are weird. And annoying. But sometimes they’re not?

Maybe I could write something like that? A character who has Confusion about themselves? No, no, I have way too much shit to do for something that long right now. These are supposed to be short and fun. Short and fun, short and fun. Short. Fun.

I am tall and funny, does that count?

What would happen if I just wrote “something happens to this person I don’t know and we all have a laugh, the end”?

Probably get my account suspended. But come on, it’s not like writers aren’t thinkin’ it. (Stephen King doesn’t count, okay, he can literally type out six chapters in like a month without pause. I saw it on an interview once. Lucky bastard.)

I know it’s gonna be feel-good. That’s something it has to be. I’m already suffocating with work. I don’t need more depressing stuff. That’s for another day, and when that day comes, I’ll say the same thing. “For another day.”

Common problem, I like to think.

Ugh, what’s the word count again? I feel like those things are one of the worst features we have. It’s like checking the clock during class—you think you’ve done a lot, then you look over and realize you’ve only typed like, 50 words.

Well, I’ve got a decent number so far.

Maybe I can keep going.

Yeah. Let’s keep going.

Cover Image Credit: Unsplash

Related Content

Facebook Comments