After years of keeping what can only be described as silly diaries, I started journaling seriously at the beginning of high school. This happened during a time when I felt like I couldn’t express my feelings to the people who needed to hear them most. So one night I grabbed a journal, and with all the drama and intensity of a teenager, poured my pain — and my tears — out onto the pages. On that cathartic evening, journaling became a habit that has stuck with me ever since. I haven’t missed a day of putting my life on paper.
Journaling became an activity where I could process my feelings without worrying about being misunderstood or judged. While at first it was a way to express my emotions freely, it evolved into something much more. My journals have become an archive of my life — a way to preserve the memories that shape who I am. They allow me to capture the details of each day in a way that no photograph ever could.
What fascinates me most about journaling is how it holds onto time. If you asked me about any date from 2020 onward, I could tell you exactly what I did, how I felt and who I was with. Crazy, right? For me, it’s like having a map of my life that I can revisit whenever I want. Some entries are filled with the mundane — what I was wearing or the podcasts I listened to — while others contain big milestones that are forever etched in ink.
Of course, not all memories are ones I want to revisit. I’ve marked particularly painful moments with little red Post-it notes — physical reminders to avoid those pages unless I’m ready to confront the emotions they hold. But even with their red flags, I acknowledge the place of those entries in my story. These moments, as difficult as they were, have shaped me. One day, perhaps, I’ll return to them and reflect on how I’ve healed or grown from that pain. For now, those pages are simply there as accounts of chapters in my life that I choose to step away from.
One of the unexpected joys of journaling has been realizing how deeply I can love and perceive the world. I capture not only events but descriptions of the way a sunset made me feel, recollections of a stranger’s kindness or playlists that remind me of a special person. These aren’t just fleeting memories — they’re pieces of my life I’ve preserved, like little snapshots in words. And, without my journals, they might have slipped away.
Journaling is also a way to reflect on how I’ve changed over time. When I go back and read old entries, I can see my growth, shifts in mindset and lessons I’ve learned. Sometimes, I’m surprised by how much I’ve evolved: how what once seemed monumental now feels like a distant memory, or how what I once feared is no longer something that holds me back.
What I find most beautiful about journaling, though, is its ability to capture the slow, often unnoticed progression of my relationships. When I reread, I always love seeing a name appear for the first time in my entries, when I had no idea this person would become a recurring character in my life story. The sense of fate never fails to make me giggle — two souls meeting when you least expect it. It’s almost like watching a movie; you never truly know the characters until the plot twists.
I’m no Sylvia Plath, and these entries will probably remain mine forever, but that’s the beauty of it. My journals aren’t for the world — they’re for me. They don’t have to be profound or poetic to be meaningful.
If you haven’t started journaling yet, I encourage you to give it a try. You don’t have to be a writer. You just have to be someone who wants to hold on to the moments that matter. Over time, those small, everyday entries will become a beautiful record of your life — a gift you can always return to.
