Let me start by saying this: I’m not one of those people who wakes up at 5 a.m., makes a matcha latte, and sits down with a leather-bound journal to write about their “gratitude for the morning dew.” My mornings are more like snooze button, coffee, chaos. So when I decided to try journaling for a month, I wasn’t exactly the poster child for mindfulness.
But everyone on the internet insists that journaling is life-changing. They say it’ll make you calmer, more focused, and maybe even solve all your problems (well, not all, but you get the vibe).
So, armed with a notebook and a mildly skeptical attitude, I dove in.
Week 1: The “What Am I Even Doing?” Phase
I started strong, or so I thought. Day one, I wrote something deep like, “What’s the meaning of life?” Day two was more like, “Why am I writing about the meaning of life?” By day three, my entries looked suspiciously like a to-do list:
Buy bread
Call Mom
Figure out if journaling is actually working
The biggest struggle? Figuring out what to write. Every guide says to let your thoughts flow naturally, but my brain apparently needed a GPS. I’d stare at the blank page like it owed me money.
Week 2: The “Maybe This Isn’t So Bad” Phase
Something shifted in week two. Instead of trying to write profound epiphanies, I started ranting. About everything. The person who cut me off in traffic? Five paragraphs. The weird email from my boss? Another three. Journaling became my personal venting machine, and honestly, it felt great.
There was something oddly freeing about dumping all my unfiltered thoughts onto paper. No judgment, no “You can’t say that”—just me, my pen, and a rapidly filling notebook. By the end of the week, I noticed I felt lighter, like I’d Marie Kondo-ed my brain. Who knew rage-writing could be so therapeutic?
Week 3: The “I Kind of Like This” Phase
By week three, I was in a groove. Journaling had become part of my nightly routine, right after brushing my teeth and scrolling TikTok (balance, right?). I didn’t stress about what to write anymore. Some days, it was a recap of my day; other days, it was random musings like, “Why do we call it a driveway if we park on it?”
The biggest surprise? I started noticing patterns in my thoughts. Turns out, I’d been stressing about the same things for weeks—things I hadn’t even realized were bothering me. It was like holding up a mirror to my brain and going, “Oh, so that’s what’s been eating at me.”
Week 4: The “Okay, I Get It Now” Phase
By the final week, journaling didn’t feel like a chore anymore. It became this little pocket of “me time” where I could reflect, rant, or just doodle (yes, there were doodles—artistic talent not included). It wasn’t life-changing in the hallelujah-choir-starts-singing way, but it was… grounding. Like hitting a mental reset button at the end of the day.
And here’s the kicker: I realised I wasn’t just writing down my thoughts—I was organising them. Problems that felt overwhelming seemed more manageable when I saw them on paper. And those gratitude prompts I’d rolled my eyes at? Not as cheesy as I’d thought. Turns out, writing “I’m grateful for my cozy socks” can actually make you appreciate the little things.
So, Is Journaling Overrated?
Honestly? It depends on what you’re expecting. If you think journaling will turn you into a Zen master who’s always calm and collected, you’ll probably be disappointed. But if you go into it looking for a way to clear your head, vent, or even just keep track of your grocery lists, it’s surprisingly useful.
Will I keep journaling? Maybe not every day, but I’ll definitely reach for my notebook when life feels messy. Because sometimes, the simple act of putting pen to paper is enough to make the chaos feel a little more manageable.
And if nothing else, at least I now have a written record of all my existential crises. You know, just in case I need a laugh later.
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