I’ve never liked it – not even the word itself.
Why not just call it writing?
I’m sure there are those who swear by the experience and positive effects of journaling.
If that’s you, I take my hat off to you.
Patience isn’t my biggest strength, so it’s frustrating for me to use journaling as a tool for getting to the bottom of my feelings about something.
(For the record, EFT is a better option for me.)
But yes, you can say whatever you like when you journal.
You can forget all about spelling and grammar and just get it all out on paper, complete with swearing if that suits you.
Use your favourite pen, on paper that’s just the right weight and texture.
Or create a whole ritual around it, really setting the scene with your favourite hot drink, music, oils and candles.
I’ve got no desire to be a Secret Squirrel, but I’m always a wee bit worried that someone might stumble upon my writing – and to be honest, I’d rather they didn’t.
But lately – well,
let’s just say that I’ve been casting some admiring glances at journaling after all.
You see, I’ve discovered something about it that I’d never suspected – and I rather like it.
I’ve started journaling last thing at night,
and it’s unexpectedly rewarding.
There’s nothing earth-changing about the content.
Sometimes I get intuitive or inspirational flashes, lightning-quick moments of pure clarity that leave me either smiling in delight, or awe-struck, at the obvious.
Most times, though, it’s just what I’ve done, who I’ve seen, what I think about this or that, what I want to do – or must do – tomorrow.
It rounds off the day so that I don’t relive it when I close my eyes.
For me, that’s a huge bonus.
Journaling? Ooh, come a little closer….