Journalling and morning pages
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Like many of us, and certainly most of the writers, artists and creative individuals I know, for large swathes of my life, I suffered from acute self-doubt and no small amount of imposter syndrome.
Imposter syndrome is a particularly nasty thought loop; it’s those recurring feelings of inadequacy that persist despite all reason, despite success or whatever that means to you. If this sounds familiar, it’s probably because you’ve felt it too; that chronic self-doubt and sense of intellectual fraudulence that tends to override all logical ‘proof’ of competence or feelings of success.
It is irrational, it is unnecessary, and it is unpleasant.
But if you look a little deeper, there’s a sweet and earnest desire sitting underneath this bizarre insecurity, and that is the desire to create, to make something. Whether it’s self-doubt, overwhelm, a lack of clarity, or something else altogether, I use journalling as an exercise to help me bust through it.
“I’ve never walked away from the page feeling worse than when I approached it.”
I journal either in the morning or at night.
The time of day I choose depends on whether I’m using it as a tool to decompress or one to detangle muddled thoughts and them back in order. I’ve been doing this for years, so I’ll just open up a blank page and then write and write, and write and write. Sometimes it’s for five minutes, and sometimes it’s for twenty. Whenever I’m done, I shut it and I’m really done, and I’ve never walked away from the page feeling worse than when I approached it.
It’s one part therapy and one part meditation, and there is no wrong way to approach it. Journalling’s been particularly helpful for me over the last six months as a way to process, and actually, to acknowledge the grief and stress and worry and terror that I wasn’t able to give voice to otherwise. Writing has been an incredible way to acknowledge, to articulate, and then really, to try and let go or work through a lot of that.
How you write, or what you write, is irrelevant.
It doesn’t matter if your handwriting’s terrible, or if your sentence is clumsy, or even if the thought makes no sense. I never read my pages again. On particularly sticky days I actually glean a lot of pleasure from ripping them up and tossing them in the bin.
If you want to rip up the pages when you’re done, do that.
If you want to keep the pages to revisit at a later date, do that.
It’s entirely up to you.
I love this excerpt from The Artists Way by Julia Cameron:
“We should write because it is human nature to write.
Writing claims our world.
It makes it directly and specifically our own. We should write because humans are spiritual beings and writing is a powerful form of prayer and meditation, connecting us both to our own insights and to a higher and deeper level of inner guidance.
We should write because writing brings clarity and passion to the act of living.
Writing is sensual experiential grounding.
We should write because writing is good for the soul.
We should write because writing yields us a body of work, a felt path to the world, which we live in.
We should write above all because we are writers, whether we call ourselves that or not.”
I love that passage. I’ve always struggled with calling myself a writer, but writing is the strongest tool in my toolbox and the one that I turn to almost daily. What I love about journalling is that it’s a way to give voice to the tangle and swirl of thoughts inside your head, giving them form and making them tangible on a page, also clearing out some mental clutter.
I’m going to walk you through my own journalling practice today. Try it today and see how it feels for you, but like all habits or rituals, these are best when they’re regular and repeated. I’d encourage you to listen and then give it a go.
“Teaching is about taking things apart; writing is about putting things together.”
To start, please find a comfortable seat and sit down.
For this practice, you'll need your journal or paper if you don't have one, and a pen. That’s it.
Once you are seated and comfortable, check-in with your breath, your body, and your mood.
Take a deep breath.
And release it.
Take another, and become aware of your mood and how you’re feeling today.
We’re going to do a stream of consciousness-style writing exercise.
What’s great about this one is that there is absolutely no wrong way to do this.
I like to start with the date on top of the page and then I just start to write.
I begin with the first thought that pops into my head and I take it from there. I don’t think about what I want to say, or how to say it, I just write.
I like to think of the pen like a duster, just buffing away all the thoughts gathering dust in my mind.
If you struggle with starting think about answering one of these questions:
- How are you feeling today?
- Is there anything that you’re struggling with at the moment?
- What has felt good recently?
- What has felt bad recently?
- How can I be kinder to myself?
- What have I been judging?
- What have I outgrown?
- What have I been controlling?
- What is it time to say no to?
Whatever comes up, let it.
Write it, and just keep going.
I'm going to assume that you've wrapped up your journalling practice and give yourself a little squeeze just for being willing to try it.
Toni Morrison said that teaching is about taking things apart while writing is about putting them together, so your most tangible outcome right this minute might only be a sore hand from all that penmanship, but please know that you've just done wonders to foster mental clarity.
It’s like taking a bath for your brain.
Deep breath in.
Long breath out.
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