How Journaling Helped Me Reconnect With Myself
I never planned to call it “writing therapy.”
At first, it was just a few messy pages in a notebook. Thoughts I was too afraid to say out loud. Scribbles that didn’t make much sense—at least not to anyone else. It was less of a practice and more of a release. But looking back, that’s where healing began.
I didn’t know I was burning out. I just thought I needed to try harder.
That was a few years ago—when I was juggling a job, my art, and the emotional weight of feeling like I was never doing enough. On the outside, things looked fine. I was productive. I was functional. But inside? I was tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. I felt disconnected from my own body, my creativity, even my joy.
One morning, after a particularly emotional night, I opened a notebook and started writing. Not for anyone. Not to be wise or poetic. Just to get the noise out of my head. That’s where this accidental ritual began.
The Quiet Power of Journaling
There’s something radically tender about seeing your truth on paper.
It’s not about being a “writer.” It’s about being honest. When I started journaling regularly—even just 10 minutes a day—I noticed a shift. My chest felt a little lighter. My mind stopped spiraling as much. I stopped performing “okay-ness” and started actually feeling my feelings.
Some days the words came in a rush. Other days, they felt dry and forced. Both were healing.
What surprised me most was how connected writing and painting became. When I gave myself space to feel on the page, I noticed my art shifting, too. Softer colors. Bolder figures. More breath in the brushstrokes.
Writing therapy didn’t just help me process hard emotions—it reconnected me to myself as a woman, not just an artist or a doer.
What I Write (and What I Don’t)
People often ask what they should journal about. Honestly? Anything. Everything. Whatever is sitting heavy in your chest or stirring in your gut. But in case it helps, here’s what my journaling often touches:
What I’m afraid to admit out loud
What I need (but don’t feel I deserve)
What’s feeling out of alignment
Where I feel proud, even if no one saw it
What my body is trying to say
Where I’m craving softness, slowness, or space
I don’t use my journal to fix myself. I don’t write to be good or inspiring. I write to witness—my own feelings, without judgment.
Sometimes, it turns into poetry. Sometimes, it’s just a rant. Either way, it’s mine.
Writing as Emotional Self-Care
Writing became one of the only things that didn’t ask anything of me.
No likes. No deadlines. No aesthetic. Just me, the page, and the truth.
In that way, journaling was the most feminist act I could offer myself—making space for my inner life to matter just as much as my output. That feels radical in a world that praises productivity over presence.
Some days, writing is the only self-care I have energy for. And that’s enough.
How It’s Changed My Art Practice
As I mentioned earlier, something beautiful started happening once I built this writing ritual into my weeks: my painting began to speak louder.
The themes in my work—feminine strength, grief, embodiment, renewal—deepened. I realized my canvas was holding what I couldn’t say yet. And writing helped me catch up emotionally.
In my piece Wildly Resilient, for example, the idea of “returning to oneself again and again” came directly from a journal entry. I had written:
“Resilience isn’t about staying upright—it’s about coming home to yourself, again and again.”
That line ended up shaping both the artist statement and the visual language of the painting.
Now, journaling is a step in my creative process. Not every time. But often enough that I see it as a partner to the paintbrush.
You Don’t Need a Perfect Morning Routine to Start
I know the pressure we put on ourselves—especially as women—to have the “right” rituals. Journaling doesn’t need a fancy setup. Here’s how I keep it simple:
I write first thing or right before bed (when my mind is most raw).
I use pen and paper—because the physicality grounds me.
I never reread entries unless I feel pulled to reflect.
I let it be imperfect. Some days are two sentences. Some are six pages.
You don’t need the perfect conditions. You just need a willingness to be real with yourself.
If You’re Feeling Numb, Stuck, or Overwhelmed…
Try writing. Not for clarity. Not for wisdom. Just for release.
Say the thing you’re not supposed to say. Cry while you write. Don’t worry about grammar or format or what it means. Let it be your private rebellion against everything that tells you to stay quiet, keep pushing, or stay small.
Writing therapy isn’t a cure. But it’s a place to begin again. Gently. Honestly. On your own terms.
A Final Word (and an Invitation)
This blog isn’t expert advice. It’s just my truth. One artist’s tender ritual. But if something here stirred something in you, maybe that’s the nudge you needed.
Here’s your invitation:
🌿 Take ten minutes today.
Write without rules. Without audience.
See what your heart is holding.
And if you’re looking for visuals that hold that same emotional truth—paintings that reflect your own process of returning to self—you’re welcome to explore my latest original works. Each one is created as a companion in your own healing journey.
With softness + strength,
Monica
