Journaling Through the Rough Patches
I just wrote a guest blog post for a company called CreateWriteNow that has a mission I really believe in: using regular journaling to reduce stress, accomplish goals and become happier and healthier.
Here’s the full post…
For the last 15 years, I have kept a journal through my hardest and happiest times. The journals have looked different over the years, from crumpled spiral notebooks to sleek black sketchbooks, but they have always served the same purpose: to give me a safe place to vent, gloat, rage and muse about everything important phase of my life. My first journal helped me survive the dramatic ups and downs of middle school, and my latest has chronicled several cross-country moves and my first year of marriage.
I’ve often said my journal is my personal therapist, and I’m not exaggerating. During happy periods of my life, I check in occasionally, writing brief, scattered posts about trips I’ve taken or goals for the future. During challenging times, however, I write a lot and I write often. It is the only place I allow myself to be completely honest about how I’m feeling, and it is indispensable.
One example of these difficult periods is the year of 2005 to 2006. I graduated from college in New Orleans in May 2005, and everything was going perfectly. I was in a great relationship, I had a fantastic group of supportive friends and I had been accepted into a program teaching English in France for the upcoming school year. I was nervous about moving far away from my loved ones for so long, but I was excited for the new adventure.
Those crazy Loyola kids
On August 29, two weeks before I was supposed to fly from New Orleans to Paris, Hurricane Katrina hit and everything changed. All of a sudden, instead of attending farewell parties, I was scrambling to evacuate the city with my passport, camera and a couple days’ worth of clothes. A few weeks later, my friends were scattered across the US and I was alone in a foreign country to cope with the sadness, anger and guilt I felt as one of the lucky survivors of the storm. I was terribly lonely and homesick, but for the first time ever, I knew it wasn’t possible to go home.
Istres, France
I started writing in my journal every day as a necessary form of therapy. Each night, I scrawled page after page, trying to identify and sift through all of my conflicting emotions. I desperately missed my boyfriend, my friends and my city, and I was clumsily trying to move past the culture shock and make a home for myself in a new place. It felt incredibly cathartic to tell my journal everything I couldn’t even tell my closest friends. It was the perfect confidante; I could let it all out without fear of being judged for appearing weak or ungrateful or self-indulgent.
Just another day of sheep running through the village
My posts ranged from the frustrated…
I just really miss my people and I feel so isolated without a phone or Internet. During the good moments, I think, “I can do this. My French will eventually catch up to my brain. I’ll be glad I stuck with this.” During the bad moments, I think, “Why am I here? I’m bored, I’m lonely, I’m far from everyone I love and I sound like an idiot when I speak French.”
… to the downright hysterical…
I hate France. I hate Istres. I don’t know why I’m here. I just want to go home. I’ve been sobbing uncontrollably all day and I can’t stop. I just want a freaking phone—is that so much to ask? I hate France Telecom with every fiber in my body. They screwed up and now it will be almost three weeks before I get a phone installed. Kill me. I’m in small town hell, and I hate everything French.
I shed a lot of tears over that journal for the first few months, but I also started using it to record my small victories. I wrote about the wonderful new friends I was making, the successful lessons I taught my students, the colorful French slang I was learning and the amazing food I was discovering. I now had stories to tell about my six-year-old students delightedly learning the words and motions to “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” and the day I spent harvesting olives and eating a two-hour mid-day feast at a local farm.
Gerald and Carmen
I pasted train ticket stubs and postcards and photos in the pages and started keeping lists of new words and phrases I wanted to remember (favorites that are appropriate to repeat are “C’est marrant!” – “How funny!” – and “Pas de soucis” – “No worries”). I even began writing half of my posts in French, which became easier and easier as the weeks progressed. Very gradually, my enthusiastic entries began to outnumber the tearful ones, and I was surprised to find that I was actually happy.
Hannah and me
Even though it was a difficult year for me, I look back on that journal fondly. It was a good friend to me when I needed one the most, and it helped me turn a painful time into a character-building experience. This is an excerpt from my final journal entry before I came back home:
In the end, I can honestly say that I don’t regret this experience. At times, it was almost unbearable because I was so frustrated or isolated or sad. But it’s all part of living abroad, and I’m proud of what I’ve done. There are people and things I will miss, but I am ready and happy to go home. Et voila, it’s the end of this adventure—till the next!
Writing this post really struck a chord with me because I see a lot of parallels with my life at the moment. I was living far from both of my homes (the Bay Area and New Orleans) and navigating all the heartache and craziness that go along with a long-distance relationship. Now Brian is deployed again, and as always, I’m surprised by how hard even three months apart can be.
My situation right now is much easier than in France because I have already established a strong network of friends in Hawaii, and I’m able to keep busy with work and fun activities. Also, I can usually understand the local language without a dictionary. But there are still rough patches, and writing this post reminded me how important my journal is during those times. Blogging and Facebook and Twitter have tried to replace my journal recently, but though those are all great tools for expression, they don’t serve the same purpose at all. They’re public ways of communicating my thoughts, and my journal is the raw, uncensored, as-crazy-as-I-wanna-be medium for working through my issues.
Lately, I’ve been avoiding my journal because I simply don’t feel like dealing with the thoughts and emotions it forces me to face. It’s a whole lot easier to zone out to my DVR queue than write honestly about how I feel, but I miss journaling. And I know it will help. I’m going to start writing in my journal at least once a week again, even if it’s just a few lines at a time.
What about you? Do you keep a journal? Why?
11 comments
I can honestly say that the only time I’ve ever kept a journal is when I was forced to in order to meet the terms of my contract with my therapist. I still have that nasty little thing somewhere; I keep meaning to get rid of it (preferably by burning), but haven’t yet. Not sure why, except to have it around as a pretty grotesque reminder of how bad things can get if I don’t take proper care of myself.
I’ve never really been a fan of journaling, maybe because it’s always felt like an assignment imposed upon me as opposed to a therapeutic activity. I get that being honest with yourself is an important step in getting well, but it really sucks when it’s not your idea.
Even before all that, though, I didn’t like the idea of having my innermost feelings written down on paper for anyone to find and read. Does that ever bother you? Sometimes, if I really need to get something down, I write it on my computer and save it to an external device. Because I’m paranoid like that.
I write. Sometimes I stare at my journal for 30 minutes before I write; like it’s something that I have to prepare myself for physically, mentally and spiritually. I’ve always felt like my journal should be well punctuated and filled with well-written prose or soul-moving poetry. After all, what if I inadvertently become famous and my journals get published after I am dead and gone? (Please don’t, by the way.) But mostly, I just end up writing down the questions that keep me awake at night. It could just be one or pages of them. And, that’s alright. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my journal will rarely ever be eloquent and only occasionally poetic. It’s the one place that I can admit to my perpetual confusion about life without having to answer to anyone or seek an immediate solution. It’s enough that I have gotten it out into the universe. My journal, silently sharing in my confusion, lightening the load.
Great post and so true, Gill. I’ve gotten through my most difficult times by writing them down–and today I get through old baggage through guided journal questions or just exploring my history on paper.
The thing is, I always rebelled against journaling. I know it sounds crazy as a writer, but everyone always told me I had to do it a certain way–“Dear Diary” or “Dear Journal,” etc. In high school and in college when I was forced to keep one for different English courses I really resented it. I would actually just go through my endless notebooks of poems and stories and copy them into the journal sometimes!
Then I learned about art journaling and thought, that’s me. Since I’ve been keeping a combination journal/art journal, I’ve been going at it daily since 2008. It’s often only a few sentences, or sometimes a few pages. There could be paint, pastels, gum wrappers, movie stubs, you name it. It’s like a combination journal, scrapbook, scratch pad (some of my published stuff goes there first as a rough draft), and art portfolio! Any “interior work” I’m doing, like The Artist’s Way or similar stuff, goes in there too. I keep my weeks organized by a format similar to The Life Organizer, but I change it up with different letters, borders, styles, colors, etc. (all by hand) every week. The same goes with my journal; some days I’ll explain everything in lowercase, or another I’ll do everything using slogans from commercials. It helps keep me organized, sane, and creative. The only thing I don’t write in it are appointments and my morning pages. :)
PS, Kalia, I used to feel like you too–that my journal had to be nothing but beautiful prose and perfect punctuation. Not so! Try Kerri Smith’s Living Out Loud book–it can be fluffy, so I don’t know if you’d like it or not, but it gives you permission to write crap, and to deface words like “precious.” Fun stuff!
It’s so interesting to hear everyone’s thoughts on this! Thank you for your comments.
Ide, I think I would absolutely hate journaling if someone made me do it. The whole concept is that it’s supposed to be whatever you want it to be, and I would resent being forced to do it. I guess we had to do similar assignments for school that always sucked. And yes, I sometimes get worried that someday people will find my journals and read them… hmm, can I get one of you to agree to burn them when I die?
Kaila, I used to feel that way, too, like my journals were supposed to be really deep and profound (instead of crazy ramblings). Way too much pressure! I love the idea of writing down the questions that keep you awake at night. I want to try this “night notes” concept where you write down stuff you’re thinking about before you go to bed. I struggle with insomnia when Brian is gone, and I think it would help. And I promise not to publish your journals :)
Sara, I love the journal/ art journal idea! Brian does something similar, pasting cool stuff in and doing awesome design stuff all over the place, along with the writing. I used to do that more when I was traveling, but I’ve gotten away from it the last few years. I would like to try it out again– having a visual aspect to the journal is so cool. And it’s interesting you rebelled against journaling, too! Basically, being forced to write down your innermost thoughts takes all of the meaning out if it, right?
Hey Gill,
I love your post! I have also kept journals since I was 12 years old. I have a large box filled with all of them, and maybe once a year I go back to an old one, or a period in my life, and it’s really helpful. Sometimes I can see patterns of behavior that I haven’t changed and always the trajectory of my growth and decision making. It is really emotional – and I would have forgotten half the stuff if I hadn’t written it down.
Ide, I’m also paranoid, so I put a lock on the box. No joke. I’ve lived with some nosy roommates, and even now, living alone, I just prefer that piece of mind.
Kai, I also used to have that problem; somewhere along the line I became very conscious of my writing (maybe after reading the published journals of Anais Nin!) and always thought- oh god, what if mine are published. (hah! right..) What helped me was what Sara did- I got an unlined artist notebook and drew pictures, included clips of pictures and wrote as well! Without lines I also felt a lot less constricted.
I think working full time really squelches the journaling process for me…I’ve been lazy about it too..Thanks Gill, you’ve inspired me to write regularly again! It’s been the one constant in my life all these years..
Thanks, NayNay! I feel the same way when I look back on my old journals. Some are hard to read because I still relate to what was going on at the time; some are kind of funny because I have forgotten completely about what was so upsetting at the time. The process of writing it out just helps me get it all out there and work out my own crazy.
Working full time absolutely makes it harder. After writing stuff for other people all day, I don’t feel like sitting down to write even more, but once I start, it feels good. It’s kind of like exercise in that way, I guess :) Let me know how your journaling goes, love!
I kept journals regularly throughout middle school, high school, and college, and I was even pretty good about it when I lived on my own. I’d journal at least a page every night before I went to bed (Night Notes), and I’d write down all my victories and gratitudes that day. It helped me make sense of what happened and find the silver lining even when things didn’t go the way I wanted them to.
When I moved in with Darren, I treated him as my living journal and stopped writing. I’m lucky that I can talk with him about anything, but I’d still like to sit down more often with my journal and not censor myself at all. It’s refreshing not to have to phrase things in a way that anyone else will understand and be completely, brutally honest. Plus, it’s nice to give the poor guy a break from my crazy sometimes.
Thanks for the reminder that journaling really does help get one through the rough patches. There is a line I remember writing while in the midst of Reschool Yourself, in bold capital letters: “WHAT THE F*** AM I DOING?!” I felt completely lost. It’s comforting to look back and realize that no matter how bad you felt at the time, it did get better.
I totally agree on the “living journal” thing. Even when Brian is gone, I write him a nightly email that has been sort of a replacement for my journal. I did recently start writing in my journal again so I’m hoping I can get back in the swing of things. It keeps me more sane!
Gill,
I thought this really honest and wonderful. Your writing is so comfortable… which shows real talent in my opinion.
I’m so glad you’ve found solace in writing in a journal. I’ve never been able to buckle down and do it, instead raging out loud to myself or anyone nearby who would listen. I wish i had the discipline/attention span to journal but I’m lucky if I spout out a blog post. Plus, we have jobs where we write all day — it’s hard to then write more at night. (that’s my excuse anyway!)
Thanks so much, Tracey. It means a lot coming from another fabulous writer.
I’ve only written in my journal once or twice since writing this post, but I am trying to be more disciplined about it because I can really feel a difference when I do. Even just raging in it for a couple paragraphs releases a bit of the crazy (so you ladies don’t have to hear every gripe I have at the moment). But I absolutely hear you on getting burnt out on writing after doing it all day! And my own blog gets neglected for weeks at a time, sooo… working on finding time for it all and still having a life.