My Journal Taught Me I Was More Capable Than I Realized
One of the things I didn’t expect when I started journaling was the cumulative effect of my writing. I didn’t set out to write three pages every day. If I set out to write that length when I began, I’m sure I would have quit soon after. Instead, I started by setting a timer for five to ten minutes and then wrote as much as I could until my time was up. I also promised myself I wasn’t going to stress about my handwriting, grammar, or spelling.
The Numbers That Surprised Me
Every day after I finished writing, I’d make a note of how many words I wrote. For fun, I started adding up the number of words I was writing at the end of each week, and then at the end of the month. At the end of the first month I realized that these numbers compounded quickly. What felt like only a little bit of writing each day for five to ten minutes soon became thousands of words by month’s end. I found that motivating.
Beyond journaling, I never felt like I accomplished much. I’d cross something off my to-do list and three more items would take its place. Journaling gave me tangible results over time and that was rewarding — especially for someone who struggled with writing. I don’t journal to the word count — that’s an important distinction. The word count is a byproduct of my practice. I use the word count to stay on task and motivated. Each December, I add up the monthly totals. My word count is usually around 240,000 for the year.
Don’t get me wrong. Most of what I write isn't salvageable. The point of tracking and counting my words is to prove to myself that showing up for something every day is enough. Even if it’s small. To put my annual word count into perspective, the average novel is 80,000 words. If I had any desire to write novels (which I don’t), I might be able to write three per year at that pace. I didn’t set out to write a novel. I set out to write for ten minutes.
What Consistency Actually Produces
What I didn’t expect was how much my writing would accumulate. I’m not an exceptional person. At least I don’t identify as one. All I do is show up every morning to journal. It’s a normal part of my day. The irony is that being consistent made the achievements exceptional.
I knew intellectually that if I did something a little bit each day, I’d become good at whatever it was. But journaling every day helped me master that lesson and then apply it to other areas of my life.
As I watched my word count compound, the number of handwritten journals grew in tandem. Before I knew it, I was filling one journal every month. At first I didn’t see how big the accomplishment was because I’d finish a journal and put it in a drawer. Then I’d finish another journal and put it on a shelf. I had journals all over the house.
After I’d been journaling for about two years, I decided one day to search for all my journals and put them in chronological order. I thought that maybe I’d want to read through them eventually. There were over twenty journals, completely filled. I stacked them on the floor because I was afraid they’d fall over. I couldn’t believe how many I had.
The journals were never the goal — showing up every day was. Over time I added the three page per session goal on top of that. It also motivated me to keep going. I didn’t know what I was moving toward, or what, if anything, I’d do with my writing — but those journals were the physical manifestation of my trust in the process. They weren’t an end product. They were an encouraging byproduct.
How the Lesson Spread
Once the reality of compounding clicked into place for me, I was encouraged to start making small everyday changes in my diet and health. Journaling had taught me about the cadence of the process — the long plateaus, and the feelings of self-doubt and uncertainty.
I figured those lessons could be extrapolated into other areas of my life.
If I made one small change toward a healthier lifestyle every day for a month, I was more likely to stick with it because I’d learned that the change needed a longer runway before I’d see results.
Culturally, I don’t think we’re taught about giving ourselves this long runway. We want what we want now, not six weeks from now. The thing is, I’d learned it was different. My perspective shifted and because of that, I wasn’t so quick to judge whether or not a change in habit was successful.
From the moment I open my journal to the moment I close it, I enter the process. I’m open to the uncertainty of how my practice will go and what will come of it. Even if I think what I’m writing is mindless filler, I keep going because I know I’m working toward some thought or discovery that I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t sat down to write in the first place. Usually that discovery happens at the bottom of page three.
If you've been thinking about starting a journal practice and you're not sure where to begin, I made something for you. Thirty prompts organized around three things that matter — beauty, connection, and reflection. No rules about how to use them. Start with the one that calls to you.