For as long as I can remember, I hated my body. The innocence of intuitive eating and being comfortable in my body left me when I stepped into a Weight Watchers meeting in 3rd grade.
For decades, I tried to fix, sculpt, diminish.
Thank Gd for the changes our bodies go through, which can bring the opportunity to grow (as opposed to locking into pursuit) when coupled with therapeutic journaling.
To keep something contained, like false beliefs that automatically fire, we have to tend to the inner work so a healthy mindset and approach can sprout in its stead.
That’s where therapeutic journaling comes in.
They say therapeutic journaling is self-therapy.
It certainly can be, but one has to be disciplined with it, as with any practice.
All the books on writing out there say that, to get good at writing, you have to show up. One of my favorite books on writing is aptly called “The War of Art.” It’s not about showing up perfectly; most times you show up, nothing good comes out. It’s about the act of showing up.
It’s about carving out space and hitting the keyboard whether something comes out or not.
Once you protect the space (this and this day I show up) and show up enough, something magical happens; eventually, a piece comes out. And the more you show up, the faster the pieces come.
But that only happens once you become disciplined in not writing something perfect, but showing up.
The more you show up, the more benefits you reap.
“You save thousands on therapy with your journaling…” I have heard it more than once.
Therapeutic Journaling gives us somewhere to take what’s happening internally and put it outside of ourselves where we can see it.
The page can do several things:
- Track patterns over time. What keeps happening before I move off-center? What situations, thoughts, emotions, relationships, or circumstances keep showing up? What helps me return?
- Catch the story underneath the behavior. Not just: What did I do? But what was I telling myself? What did I believe this meant?
- Reveal schemas and false beliefs. When we write repeatedly, the same underlying beliefs start to show themselves: I’m not enough. I’m unsafe. I have to get this right. I can’t handle this. Nobody is there for me.
- Create separation. Once the thought is on the page, I can begin to see: This is a thought I’m having. This is a story. This is a part. This isn’t necessarily the whole of me or the truth.
- Work with parts. Instead of being completely blended with the critic, indulger, frightened part, rebellious part, etc., I can meet it, hear what it’s saying, understand what it’s trying to do for me, and respond.
- Process emotion rather than eat over it. The page gives the emotion somewhere to go. I can feel it, name it, explore it, and move through some of it rather than immediately needing to change how I feel.
- Make connections. Things that seem unrelated while they’re happening can become connected on the page: Oh. This happens every time…
- Create a record of change. Tracking isn’t only catching what’s wrong. The page lets me see returns, follow-through, new responses, what is working, and evidence that I’m actually changing.
How do I contain me? The page. It always comes back to the page. More and more, I realize journaling isn’t extra; it’s a requirement if you want to change. Journaling is not just supporting yourself through writing; it is making space for growth to happen on the page.
And what if you are not a writer? That’s ok- we are not writing here. We are catching. And the page is that structure for it.
