Words: Phoebe Collins, Photography: Max Burnett.
I kept a diary as a child. The kind that housed secret crushes under lock and key. Into the depths of teenage-hood the pages darkened. I quickly turned a once safe haven of light lamenting and wild delights, to one of ridicule and self-reproach. Over time I drove myself away. The love of words instilled by my father weakened with every angered scratching of the page.
Then we arrive at 2020. A time of so much discomfort. It was inevitable, in hindsight, that my unaddressed self-critical nature and distinct lack of emotional grounding in the face of confrontation would come to a head. The honesty of loved ones is the greatest of lifelines. The doors of therapy were reopened but for the first time in my life my hands were firmly at the helm. I’m joyous to report it worked wonders. Which is to say if you are reading this with an ounce of uncertainty that talking to somebody might help you, you would be regretfully mistaken. It will help.
It was my therapist that replanted the prospect of journaling into my life. Keen for some hands on homework after every session (it’s amazing what monetary investment can do for your motivation), she shared a hefty list of journaling prompts. During a mild weekday afternoon, in the garden of a loose acquaintance for whom I was dog sitting, I finally faced the blank page. Hello old friend. The prompts, overwhelming. The first attempt, uncomfortable. It often felt gruelling, writing down memories and emotions that had woven their way into my everyday and continued to cause me discomfort and anxiety. It was an isolating activity that forced me to be alone with myself; something I desperately avoided. But despite the discomfort, somewhere buried beneath, there was insight. A dust laden light had been turned on. The essence of my younger self that yearned to define and explore herself in amongst her own words was reignited. It was relieving to reflect and ruminate without fear of others. I articulated myself more clearly in each therapy session which led to greater progress. Best of all, I found a confidant in myself once again.
Five years on, I still meet myself daily on the page. Up until the birth of my beautiful son at the close of 2024, I journaled every day without fail for three years. My practice shifted many times. Consistency was first initiated with the introduction of daily yoga into my life; journaling just a sentence or two on my practice that day. Obscure thoughts from a pigeon pose, accidental dreams in Shavasana. Educating myself on the rhythms of nature and it’s wonderfully complete cycles led me to moon journaling, using the 28 day lunar cycle as a guide for personal reflection. The full moon tradition of writing all you wish to release and watching it ceremoniously burn is a personal favourite. Journaling is significantly more thrilling with fire involved. I dabbled in Julia Cameron’s marvellous ‘morning pages’, the endeavour of hand writing three A4 sides in a stream of consciousness, first thing in the morning. It alone I could spend an entire article on, though writing before bed ultimately became my norm. A simple unloading of the day, no matter how mundane. I would arise each morning in relief that anything of importance was logged, remembered in its most present tense and to be revisited at my leisure in two days or twenty years time. I felt lighter not having to carry so much around, just in case I should need it. There was a deep satisfaction in having scribed my life, if only briefly. A compact physical reminder that I was living, growing and changing constantly. Finishing another journal was a trophy on the shelf.
Joyfully, journaling has become more than just a personal hobby. A health scare in 2023 forced me to re-evaluate where I spent my energy and understand what I truly wanted my life to look like. The wise words of a friend and her wonderfully assertive encouragement led me to the creation of Journal Club.
Somewhere to help others on the very same journey I began five years before; a safe space to share ideas, gain new perspectives and make friends. To my surprise, people came. A beautiful community began to blossom. I adore it. There is value far beyond what I imagined in gathering strangers around a table, quietly answering prompts on paper and then, when it feels right, discussing, unpacking and supporting each other. True friendships have been born.
As for now, Journal Club is making a return. After a hiatus while I became a mother (funnily enough, a journey embarked on by first journaling about it) we now meet on Sundays at 1pm – our new location will be confirmed on the website: www.journalclubjsy.wixsite.com/write and @journalclubjsy.
Now I challenge you to pick up your pen and try a reflective journaling exercise.
STEP 1
Find a quiet moment, morning or night. Write down each of the 8 areas.
STEP 2
One at a time, perhaps with closed eyes, watch what reflects back at you in that area. Then answer the three following questions:
Is a positive or negative emotion attached to the reflection?
What did you do this year to impact that area, both positively or negatively?
What does your ideal reflection look like? (Dream big).
STEP 3
Out of the 8 areas choose 5 that are the most important to you going forward into the new year. Set a goal for each.
STEP 4
What one small thing you can do tomorrow to get you closer to one of those goals? Try it out. Put pen to paper. Start writing. See what comes of it. I did. I’ve never looked back.
