How Journaling Gets Me Through

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Kai R.

Philippines

Joined Jun 15, 2022

Kai R.’s journaling practice catalyzed her personal growth and helped her work through burnout culture. Now she encourages readers to start their own journals.

“When I read past journal entries, I’m inspired to take action in the present and expect abundance waiting for me in the future.”

Kai R.

From social media to television dramas, fast-paced hustle culture is pervasive—and it's impacting our collective well-being. I worked as a customer service specialist for five years, and it was indeed exhausting; I only kept going because of the competitive salary I needed at the time to support my family. I remember daydreaming of vacations and extended days off because of burnout.

But not everyone has an opportunity to indulge in peaceful and quiet alone time. This realization triggered me to sit down and get real with myself. I decided I’d much rather work from home as a freelancer even though the pay isn’t that much. Because to me, a million-dollar bank account is worthless if I can’t live in the moment.

It took me a long time to come to this decision, and one of the things that helped me was a journaling practice I began in my youth.

Growing up, I was always fascinated with the story of Anne Frank. She beautifully captured one of the most traumatic times in history through her meticulously written diary. When I was 10, I felt so inspired to write my own that I didn’t purchase lunch. I wanted to save my allowance to buy a new one, but it wasn’t enough. So, I stopped by an antique shop and found a navy blue leather jacket for my old A5 notebook. “Perfect!” I exclaimed, feeling the smooth leather and its cracks against my sweaty palm. I excitedly filled my diary with secrets, tales of misfortunes, hopes, dreams, insecurities, worries, and everything else about me. 

My strict grandmother raised me, and I felt timid as a kid. I struggled to express my emotions in healthy ways. I lost count of how many times I wrote: “Instead of getting frustrated and acting out, maybe I should’ve listened first.” Each night, I relive the heavy guilt of upsetting my loved ones because of what I did.

I kept writing even after I finished high school. Through the off-white pages of my journal, I found the most loyal and nonjudgmental friend. I imagine the piece of notebook breathing in through its blank pages and breathing out through my words and doodles. I wasn’t afraid to say what I truly felt –– no masks, no lies. A warm sense of belongingness enveloped me; I felt safe with my diary. I slept with it under my pillow, hid it in inconspicuous spots, and even bought a metal lock for it. Writing in my journal wasn’t just a hobby, but an escape from the overwhelming drama of being a teenager.

Everyone around me knows how boundaried I can get around privacy. One lazy afternoon, I went home from class and walked into my sister reading my diary. My heart sank as I watched her fingers flip through its pages. I felt exposed and betrayed. My mind went blank as I ripped the pages off the diary. It was a disaster – papers flying everywhere, tears streaming down our faces. 

Anguish filled my sister’s eyes as she confessed how alone she felt when I started spending more and more time by myself rather than hanging out with her. Reading the diary in secret was her quirky attempt to keep up with my life because I withdrew into my tiny shell, ignoring our inside jokes and silly play-pretends. That day, we pinky swore to trust and be there for each other because we’re family. 

I realized how through the journal, I turned writing into a toxic habit of constantly rehashing pain from the past. Instead of letting it help me realign my thoughts positively, I used it as a space to give more attention to my negative, irrational thoughts. Indeed, too much of one thing – no matter how beautiful that thing is – harms us in the long run.

I took a break from writing to focus on keeping my life together. I was a senior in college, consumed with the looming threat of being unemployed after graduation. For months, I felt a deep void that I tried to fill by working tirelessly. I took all the overtime shifts allowed and stayed behind even after office hours, resulting in constant sickness. Without my pen, I wasn’t so sure who I was. I’d gone astray in the sea of sleepy eyes, hunched backs, and overworked employees. I worked during the night. As I clocked out, I could watch the sun rising. And with it, the longing to write intensified.

After six months of nonstop work, I saw myself instinctively reaching out to a receipt I found lying around my bedside table. I first wrote in tiny letters my initials, then signed it with a cute little heart. Then, I started writing random words all over its edges until I filled the entirety of it. I dusted off my antique navy blue leather jacket from the old diary and got myself a fresh cup of coffee and a new A5 notebook. The sun was almost down again when I finished pouring my heart out.

Reading past journal entries allows me to dive into the deep realms of my past self. Pride swells inside my belly, and I can’t help but wish I could tell my past self that everything will be alright – to have faith that things will fall into their places eventually. I’ve always started my entries with “Dear Self,” and I thank my younger self for caring about my wellbeing. When I read past journal entries, I’m inspired to take action in the present and expect abundance waiting for me in the future.

Whenever I’m not busy writing, I consciously try to take note of everything that surrounds me: the birds singing atop the street lights, the roaring laughter of the children playing outside, and even the tender look in my puppy’s eyes. I can immortalize these memories on paper through the photos, paragraphs, and souvenirs I collect and paste into my diary. The idea of taking my journal out and describing the thought-provoking narratives I encountered for the day excites me.

What started as a fascination with a young girl’s diary has now transformed into an important part of my self-care routine and, possibly, a lifelong career. As an aspiring writer, I stay true to my words and leave no room for toxic overthinking. Journaling taught me to appreciate my bare self, all parts of it –– even the weird and ugly. Tonight, allow yourself to recall a significant event in your life (may it be happy or sad). Imagine what it was like to be in that moment again and ask, how can this help my journey?

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