Journaling & Why I Write: My Therapy on Paper
May is Mental Awareness Month
I’m not one to whine or complain because at any given time, there is always going to be something going on in life, and we always have to figure it out. But just throwing it out there that the entire month of April was a continuous dumpster fire. From the first day of the month to the last, I felt like I was the April fool.
As I’ve been trying to settle into our new home, it was like I was living in a Netflix series — or more like a cheap Tubi series.
I got a boot on my car in NYC that cost an arm and a leg to be removed.
My oldest turned 18, so I’ve reached the stage of parenthood where I have a “legal adult.” He also took advantage of the day to tell me about the tattoo he got back in December with his Christmas money.
My sister-in-law lost her fight against breast cancer one month shy of her 38th birthday. The series of unfortunate events continued all month long.
Through every midnight meltdown and ghosting the world, I kept one thing constant — my notebook. My pen never judged me, never asked for metrics, and never ghosted on me when I started rambling or my thoughts turned weird. Just me, my pen + paper, and whatever popped into my head at whatever time.
Why I journal:
Brain dump = instant clarity. Writing untangles my thoughts.
Emotional release with zero judgment. My pen never rolls its eyes or gets overstimulated.
Proof I’m human. In a world obsessed with doing, doing, doing, the act of simply being (and writing about it) feels revolutionary.
Since May is Mental Health Awareness Month, I’m finally hitting publish on the drafts I’ve never published. Half-finished essays, unhinged rants, and random moments of clarity. All month long, I’m publishing one unfiltered post a day.
For the next 30 days, I’m giving myself permission to ramble, overthink, or just breathe. Check out the sitcom of my life or change the channel, but the show must go on.
I’m hitting publish.