Each year, people fight to stay true to their New Year’s resolutions. Alongside going to the gym, reading books, and spending less time in front of screens, another resolution earns a spot on many lists year after year: journaling.
Journaling’s history spans millennia, from dynasties to empires to notes apps. For centuries, people have turned to the nearest means of recording and began writing. Whether what they had for breakfast or their favorite book, longing for lovers or recent laughs, journaling has always served as an outlet to make sense of one’s own world.
For much of its history, journaling has been regarded as a practice beneficial to wellbeing and mindfulness. When humans write down their thoughts, they consciously think about what they have encountered in the world and how they feel they are contributing to it. In doing so, they find themselves discovering what about their lives they consider meaningful, what certain relationships mean to them, or even what they think their life purpose may be. At the same time, they are forced to confront things they may wish not to. Why do I feel as though I am perceived a certain way? Why do I keep repeating this destructive behavior? Essentially, journaling forces us to work through things we may otherwise unconsciously—or even consciously—toss aside or repress; when every prompt interrogates our concealed prejudices or insecurities, we are not allowed to continue avoiding our flaws or relationship bumps.
In theory, it is perfect. If everyone would just invest in a journal, humans would become significantly more in touch with themselves and with those around them. But here is the catch: we are not always honest with ourselves, and that diminishes one of journaling’s larger purposes.
All humans practice defense mechanisms, or mental strategies the mind uses to shield itself from anxiety and to maintain self-esteem. When we talk to anyone, from strangers to our very own parents, we tend to subconsciously focus on portraying ourselves in a positive light-and that is okay, it is human nature. But it carries over to journaling, too. When faced with the prompt, “What version of yourself do you perform-and for whom?” many people would answer dishonestly. “Well I am not performative in the slightest, of course,” one may say. Or perhaps, “everything about me is authentic I cannot even answer this.” In the case of most people, neither of those answers are wholly true; yet still, many would write something along those lines. Humorously, one commenter wrote, “I’m an unreliable narrator.” Another questioned, “Why are we always performing for an omnipresent viewer?”
Though a perfectly natural tendency, it is important to recognize there is a line that must be drawn. When the facade we try so desperately to put on for others carries into our own minds, we lose touch with personal discernment, entering an endless loop of concealing who we really are in order to convince others—and more destructively, ourselves—that we are devoid of flaws. We manipulate ourselves into believing that if we write down our ideal versions of our own histories, they must be true, right?
The problem lies in that when we cannot recognize our problems, we cannot address them, either. In lying not only to others but also to ourselves, we put off holding ourselves accountable, we put off accepting our innate imperfections. Ironically, however, doing exactly that is the conduit through which growth occurs. When we recognize there are imperfect aspects of ourselves or our lives, we are given the chance to address them, to come to terms with our worlds and perhaps even change them.
So, though journaling is an ideal New Year’s resolution on paper, it is important that the practice is executed properly. Only in dropping the facade we are presenting to ourselves, in letting ourselves feel shame and discomfort, can growth be born.
