I’ve been keeping some type of a journal since I was about 11. Yeah, I think it was at 11 that I bought a journal from our local Kmart and decide to share my deepest, darkest (ok, maybe they weren’t that dark) with its pages. But, from that journal, which was discovered by a classmate, my journals took other forms, usually loose papers from composition books of my English class.
On those papers, I wrote letters to myself and to others. I didn’t begin with “dear, diary,” but I did begin with “dear, someone.” I am not sure what became of those letters that I often tossed between the opening that marked the boundary between my childhood bed and my wall. But I don’t think I threw them away either.
When I had my daughter, my first daughter, I began keeping a journal again. It’s an online journal in which I wrote about her baby milestone and my milestones as a mom and woman. I read that journal today and reflected on just how important it is that we write to remember. The prose that I wrote in that journal as a new mom is not exceptionally good. In fact, I’d say it’s quite bad, but it speaks so honestly to that place in my life.
I continue to keep a journal now about my girls and about my life as a mom and woman post-children. And while I do write about some things in my journey, or this journey post-baby, on my blog. What I write in my journal is different. It’s always less profound. More normal. More sentimental for me in reading them again.
Do you keep a journal? Why do you use a journal?