When I was a little girl, I had an evil stepfather. One day he came home with a pretty pink journal for me. It had a lock and key, and glossy little angels on the cover. It was one of the prettiest things he ever gave me. He sternly told me that I had to write in it every day.
In the weeks that followed, every day, he would remind me to write in my journal. It was to be one of my daily tasks. Even as a little girl, I knew there was more to this gift than meets the eye. So I wrote, every day, diligently, the mundane things that I did. It would go, in scrawly little-girl handwriting, something like this:
Today was a sunny day. We went to the supermarket and then stopped by the river for a swim and played in the park. My little sister fell off the swing and hurt her knee. I had maths homework to do. It was not fun.
I dared not write my true feelings in that journal, because, even as a little girl, I knew this gift was too good to be true. I had an intuitive feeling that my words were not truly safe in that little book.
Then, one night when I was supposed to be asleep, I heard my stepfather sneak into my room, pick my journal up from the dresser and take it. I opened up my eyes just for moment to check, and it was true, he had taken my journal to read. He was searching for reasons to punish and abuse me more than he already did. Minutes later he returned, replaced my journal, and left.
I continued my mundane entries, he continued pressuring me to write, and then sneaking into my room to read my journal. After a few months he grew tired of it, I suppose because I never gave him anything juicy to work with, and the journaling story ended.
This experience left a bitter taste in my mouth when it came to journaling. I did not enjoy writing about my life and feelings, because my writing was not safe. I had no privacy, and no personal space, except for in my own mind. So I refused to journal ever again.
It all changed, when I was 19. I was traveling for the first time on my own, and had just moved to Italy to work as a nanny to a 7-year-old girl, just outside of Florence. It was a lonely time for me, the good kind of lonely that every person sometimes needs, with space and time to think and figure things out. I needed to find a way to get all those thoughts out of my head, to make sense of them all.
I bought an empty notebook and just started writing. At first, my writing was awkward and repetitive. I couldn’t quite work out how to get all those conflicting feelings down on paper. I thought it all had to be fluid and meaningful to be worthy of being written down. Day by day as I kept writing, I relaxed and stopped trying to force my words to come out in a certain way, instead, allowing them to tumble out in any nonsensical way that they wanted. It was from this point that I started to see the fears, the pain, the connecting patterns, the dreams and the visions I held. This is where the magic started.
Since those first few weeks in Italy, I have used journaling to create a life that is truly my own. I journal to release fears, blocks, limiting beliefs and unhealthy patterns. I journal to manifest my big dreams, visions and goals. I journal to process emotions and difficult situations. I journal to create my future and to clear my past. I journal to change my mindset, attract clients, opportunities, friends and lovers into my life. I journal to get clarity around how much I want to earn and how. I journal to plan and initiate my travels and adventures. I journal to develop me sense of self-love, self-acceptance and improve my body image. Journaling has become my sacred starting point to access my intuition and the conversation that I have to my spiritual understanding and the universe. My life is literally created from the words that I write.
In this video, I show you exactly what processes I use to create my life through journaling. I hope you find it helpful, entertaining and useful.