It started with a small, two-dollar notebook—the kind with thin paper that barely survived the scratch of a pen. I was nine, freshly inspired after reading Anne of Green Gables, and convinced I would spend my formative years documenting every thought, dream, and existential question that drifted through my slightly overactive brain. What if the moon fell into the ocean? How would ships steer without compasses? Did my crush notice the glitter butterfly clip I strategically placed in my hair? Profound stuff, obviously.

Obsessions, quirks, passions—whatever you call them—often start small. Mine, it turns out, became a lifelong habit of journaling (and yes, overanalyzing everything). If I cracked open my childhood journals now, they’d reveal a whirlwind of preteen musings about playground politics, but they also marked the start of me getting hooked on storytelling. That habit became not just a passion but a filter through which I view life, love, and all the awkward moments in between. Journaling isn’t just a thing I do; it’s my map, my self-therapy, and my secret weapon in navigating what we often call “adulting.” Let me take you on this ride.

Journaling Is My Therapy, But Cheaper

We all have those moments when the universe feels like it’s out to get us. Like that time I accidentally liked someone’s Instagram photo from three years ago while I was in full-on “How cool are they now?” stalking mode. Journals are where I process these cringe-worthy blunders—and, consequently, save myself from spiraling into despair. They’re the place where I can yell (silently, into the page) without worrying that someone will hear me scream, “Why doesn’t he text back when he LITERALLY just posted a story?”

But here’s the trick: it’s not just about venting into a void. Over the years, my notebooks have turned into self-discovery treasure troves. They’ve revealed patterns I hadn’t noticed before: my tendency to place too much emphasis on a single text reply (anyone else guilty of crafting a Shakespearean sonnet for a “Hey wyd”?) or how I thrived during the Tofino summers when I learned to surf. Writing things down creates clarity, flipping on a headlamp when the cave of your emotions feels pitch black.

Actionable Tip: Start small. You don’t need a five-year leather-bound journal with gilded edges. Grab whatever’s near (a napkin, your phone’s Notes app, that promotional pen you got at the bank). Jot down one thing you’re feeling grateful for or miffed about. I promise it helps untangle the spaghetti nest of your thoughts.

The Quest for Aesthetic Meets Chaos

If Instagram has taught me anything (aside from the fact that I’ll never graduate from YouTube yoga beginner videos), it’s that journaling has gone high fashion. Minimalist bullet journals dripping in pastel markers and Nordic calligraphy flood my feed. These influencers seem to have endless patience for hand-drawn mood trackers with botanically accurate monstera leaves. Meanwhile, I’m over here scratching unintelligible spirals into the margin because I have—yet again—dropped cold brew all over my pages.

You won’t find my journals on a flat lay, and I don’t use washi tape. My aesthetic leans more “controlled chaos,” peppered with snippets of bus tickets from Melbourne, café napkins from Granville Island, and the accidental mummification of forgotten leaves I once pressed between the pages. This haphazard style, though, mirrors life itself—messy, chaotic, slightly sticky, but deeply personal.

Actionable Tip: Forget perfection. Your journal doesn’t have to resemble an indie film montage. Let it be your safe space for illegible scrawls or eccentric doodles. Besides, authenticity trumps aesthetics every time. No one needs to see it but you.

A Refuge for the Overthinking Mind

As someone deeply committed to the fine art of overthinking (what can I say? it’s a skill), journaling is my guilt-free space to spiral in peace. Take dating, for instance. During a particularly murky “situationship” a couple of years ago, I crammed an entire page debating whether sending a “Hope your meeting went well!” text was too clingy. (Spoiler: it wasn’t, but he ghosted me anyway, which led to at least three follow-up pages of heated analysis.)

The thing with overthinking isn’t just that it’s exhausting; it has a way of robbing the present moment of joy. But when I pour it all onto paper, I see my wackadoodle spirals laid bare—and they suddenly seem less intimidating. I reshape them into something manageable, like cleaning out a cluttered closet and finding space you forgot existed.

Actionable Tip: When overthinking hijacks your brain, let the thoughts tumble onto a page like an unfiltered stream. Don’t judge or refine; just let it flow. Stream-of-consciousness writing isn’t about quality—it’s about finding relief.

Romanticizing the Ordinary

If journaling has taught me anything, it’s this: beauty lies in the everyday. (Cue barista-style latte foam hearts and rain-dappled sidewalks.) Through journaling, I’ve turned small moments into vivid memories. Those quiet afternoons sitting on my parents’ Kitsilano café terrace? They’re scribbled into my notebook next to overheard conversations about someone’s cousin’s bad Tinder date. A simple walk along Jericho Beach became a meditation on how the scent of seaweed mingled with the chirping of seagulls. Journaling makes everyday life a little more cinematic, a little more special.

And you know what? That translates to how I approach relationships, too. Grand romances aren’t built on grand gestures alone—they’re stitched together by the little things. The soft hum of shared silence, the recognition of a favorite pizza topping, the sincerity of “How was your day?” when asked with genuine interest. Journaling reminds me to pay attention to—and appreciate—the ordinary moments.

Actionable Tip: Commit to noticing one “ordinary magic” moment a day and writing it down. Maybe it’s the way sunlight dances through your window or how your friend’s laugh sounds over espresso. Gratitude has a funny way of rewiring the brain to notice more magic.

Closing the Chapter

Notebooks—and by extension, journaling—have become my personality trait, and I wear it proudly. They’re my secret weapon in navigating all the big, scary things life throws at me: heartbreak, adventure, confusion, contentment, waiting at the DMV. Journaling reminds me that life doesn’t have to make perfect sense as long as I can make sense of my corner of it.

So, start where you are, whether that’s in the funk of a breakup or the heightened thrill of new beginnings. Your journey doesn’t have to be linear or Instagram-ready—it just has to feel like you. Who knows? Maybe your quirky obsession with scribbling (or painting, knitting, baking, or birdwatching) will lead you to self-discovery too. And if nothing else, it’s cheaper than therapy.

Grab a pen. Your story’s waiting.