When I was a kid, I had an aunt who painstakingly wrote every single detail of her day in what I called a diary. I remember their “junk room” filled with boxes and boxes of these notebooks. As a kid, I couldn’t imagine what on earth an adult had so much to write about.
You’re a free woman, I thought. You can eat dessert for breakfast. You can drive a car. Go to the mall on a whim. Pick out your own clothes. What could possibly be worth filling boxes upon boxes of notebooks?
Then — whiplash — I became an adult. A writer, at that. And to this day, I still don’t actually know what my aunt was writing. Was it a line-by-line account of events? A play-by-play of her day? Or was it what I now recognize as journaling?
There’s a difference. A big one. And while it may seem obvious to some, it’s not to everyone.
Many people think journaling means sitting down at the end of the day and formally rehashing everything that happened. A tidy recap. A beginning, middle and end. A record meant to be saved, organized, maybe even re-read someday.
That’s one option. But it’s not the only one.
Journaling doesn’t have to be structured. It doesn’t have to be thoughtful. It doesn’t have to be profound. And it definitely doesn’t have to be a full replay of the day, unless you enjoy reliving Publix insanity or the surprise “quick chat” from your accountant that somehow lasts 47 minutes.
Journaling can be … Whatever. You. Want.
It can be one sentence. It can be angry. It can be repetitive. It can be ugly. It can be written sideways, misspelled, dramatic or barely legible.
Some of the most helpful journaling never gets re-read. That’s the part no one tells you.
There’s this quiet pressure to make journaling meaningful. Insightful. Worth keeping. But the truth is, journaling isn’t about creating something beautiful – it’s about giving your thoughts somewhere to go besides looping endlessly in your head.
For the nervous system, this matters more than we realize. When thoughts stay internal, they tend to stay loud. Writing them down, even briefly, helps shift the brain out of a constant state of internal monitoring and into external processing. It creates a pause. A slowdown. A small sense of order in what often feels like mental clutter.
Research shows that expressive writing can help regulate stress responses by reducing emotional overload and improving clarity. Not because it fixes anything, but because it organizes the noise just enough for the body to exhale. And here’s the key: It doesn’t work better when it’s polished. It works when it’s honest.
Journaling isn’t a performance. It’s not for personal growth points. It’s not a habit you have to keep up with or do “right.” It’s not meant to impress your future self or anyone else who might someday find the notebook tucked in a drawer.
It’s for you. Only.
Sometimes journaling is just a place to say the things you don’t want to say out loud. Sometimes it’s where frustration goes so it doesn’t spill into your sleep, your relationships or your patience. Sometimes it’s a way to re-regulate your nervous system without needing to analyze or explain a single thing.
And sometimes, it’s just a few messy lines written near the water, then closed, then forgotten.
That still counts.
Maybe my aunt was documenting every detail of her day. Or maybe she was doing exactly what so many of us need now, giving her thoughts somewhere to land. Either way, I get it now.
Because adulthood, it turns out, gives you plenty to write about. And not all of it needs to be remembered.
Sometimes, it just needs to be released.
