Dear Diary—
My last journal entry was July 2022, so when I suggest journaling to clients, I have to take a good hard look inside. I know it helps—but sometimes it can feel like just another task added to an already full load. I’ve clearly had an on-again, off-again relationship with journaling myself. If that’s you, no shame here.
Not all journaling is created equal.
What I’ve learned over time is that journaling serves different purposes at different moments. In other words, not all journaling is created equal.
When I go back to read some of my personal entries, I’m often struck by how heavy they sound—down, depressed, angry, or resentful. I think that’s because for a long time, I used my journal primarily as a place to unload emotion. It was honest, but it wasn’t the whole picture of who I am.
Sometimes writing is for release.
More recently, I’ve discovered other functions of journaling. One style I’ve come to appreciate is the complete brain dump—writing everything out with no intention of rereading it. It doesn’t even need to be legible, because the purpose isn’t reflection; it’s release. Sometimes that writing is meant to be shredded, not saved.
I’ve started using this approach when I just need to vent, especially because I don’t want someone someday finding my journals and assuming I was always dark, angry, or depressed. Let’s face it—I feel those things sometimes. But they’re not the entirety of who I am.
Other times, it’s about connection.
The journal I really enjoy now is one built around question prompts—questions designed to help me learn more about myself. I tend to use it when I’m relaxed: on a trip, sitting with my husband, or talking with a close friend or family member. Some entries contain only my responses; others include the voices of people I love most.
That kind of journaling offers a broader spectrum of who I am. It asks questions I wouldn’t naturally think to ask myself and captures moments of connection alongside self-reflection.
I’ve also discovered a gratitude journaling app that I genuinely enjoy, mostly because it’s prompted and helps me build a habit of noticing what’s good. Over time, those reflections collect into a digital journal that feels surprisingly meaningful.
There’s also a spiritual function journaling can serve. I have a close friend who journals as a way of meeting with God—a sacred, relational practice rather than a productivity tool. That reframing alone changes how journaling feels.
And sometimes, it’s for understanding.
The heart behind The Therapist’s Diary is to share some of the common elements of the human condition—the emotional patterns that shape our relationships, our mental health, and the way we move through the world. These are patterns I witness daily in my work with couples, men, and people navigating burnout.
While therapy itself is confidential, the experiences beneath it are not unique. So much of what we feel carries unnecessary shame simply because we think we’re the only ones struggling with it.
In ten years of practice, I can’t think of a single client who journals with perfect consistency, curiosity, and kindness toward themselves. Most people approach journaling with pressure or disappointment when they fall off. What I hope for instead is a relationship with journaling that feels more like companionship than obligation.
So I’m getting back on the journaling bandwagon—here, with you. Not from a place of mastery, but from the middle of the human experience. Because whatever you’re going through, there are likely dozens of other humans walking around feeling something very similar.
Including me.
Sincerely,
A therapist who should know—but doesn’t
