Why I Stay Clear of Journaling (and Make Lists Instead)
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” (Ernest Hemingway)
My only attempt at journaling took place when I was around ten. I’m not sure where I got this thick, blue-lined notebook with brown covers that smelled of burnt plastic when it got hot under the window filtered sun. What I remember is the feeling of my fingertips running over its rough striations and the sense of excitement that enfolded me when I held it. The chemistry was instant, the call crystal clear. Armed with my leaking ink pen (anyone else with perpetual blue fingers growing up?) I began to write.
I have no memory of the childish impressions I confessed to my newfound paper pal, but one entry is still vivid in my mind - my first and last inclination to decant any feelings in writing. After some mandatory holidays at my paternal grandparents’ house where I had spent some time with my cousin, I commiserated on page about all the things my cousin had and I lacked. How she had a bike, and I didn’t. How her hair was neatly braided, and mine wasn’t. How her parents were kind to her, and mine weren’t.
A few days later I was reprimanded during mealtime – the only time of the day when anyone spoke to me. I was an ungrateful child, and my aunt and uncle weren’t what they seemed to be.
My brown plastic covered notebook disappeared that day, never to be found again.
Journals and journaling have come a long way since my childhood. The global market for diaries and planners was estimated at $1.15 billion in 2024, while the digital journaling apps market is expected to reach $19.3 billion by 2035. The idea of jotting things down – particularly in the form of expressive writing or gratitude journaling - is now incredibly popular in the mental health space. And there is indeed data suggesting that journaling can improve mental health outcomes for a variety of conditions, including PTSD and CPTSD1.
I’m not a proponent of journaling, and I’m not knocking it either. I suspect that, as with most things, it works for some folks and not for others and that it’s up to each of us to discover what helps. What I know is, journaling isn’t for everyone. There are people who are struggling to document their most intimate thoughts and feelings because they’ve learnt that self expression is a dangerous endeavour. And there are people who will feel an urge to break their pen when prompted to list their blessings, because on the inside they’re still raging about the cruel hand life’s dealt them.
At work we have all sorts of names for writing. Procedures. Product backlogs. Learning portfolios. Idea boards. Meeting minutes. Achievements list. Bullying behaviour tracker (just saying, sometimes you need one).
We know our memory is unreliable, our moment-to-moment perceptions deceiving. We don’t need any convincing that keeping a record of ideas, wants goals and fears risks is a good thing. What we need is minimum training and incentives to do it well.
Yet in my experience most workers and workplaces are terrible at it. Why do we find writing, and writing well, so hard?
Working in HR forced me to go back to writing. In my career I have produced thousands of job interview guides, candidate reports, case studies, workbooks, workshop materials, train-the-trainer manuals, assessment reports, success profiles, system guides (fun fact – I once added a couple of jokes to an incredibly dull recruitment software handbook but it did not land well), data analyses, executive summaries, trends reports, e-learning scripts and calls for action. In a world that preferred talking, I felt grounded typing things up to make sure I don’t lose glimmers of inspiration or observations that stirred something. I wrote to protect my thoughts from emotional hijacks and clarify which things deserved my effort and attention. I wrote to organize and probe ideas, turn hunches into test hypotheses and watch how far a question could go long after the surface conversation had ended.
Writing stuff down became my superpower. Notes and lists worked for my job, but more importantly they worked for me. What went on a page no longer lived in my head. What seemed overwhelming would transmute into neat groups of manageable, plannable tasks. My mind could take a break, my body could relax.
What I didn’t know at the time was that childhood trauma impacts the development and future performance of brain structures and networks that underpin a person’s executive functions. Executive functions are things like working memory, self-control and cognitive flexibility that enable us to plan and execute complex, goal-directed behaviours. This is why many survivors present with emotional dysregulation, attention and memory deficits and inadequate inhibitory mechanisms, which make life and work incredibly difficult. For people like me finding the external resources that compensate for that vulnerability can be a lifesaver.
Today I make lists with gusto – for work and private life alike. I would never be able to manage a household, a family and start my own business without it.
I don’t need to go through everything on my list in one day. My lists don’t have to be long or exhaustive. I don’t even have to tackle everything on the list because some things can be picked up by others (mind blown? mine too) or - and this is my favourite part - some things resolve without my intervention. But there are very few things, personally or professionally, that I feel I can’t have a good go at without a list.
So here I am, journal avoidant turned lists enthusiast tackling life one bullet point at a time.
Lists can be so much more than first line productivity tools. They can act as stress reduction levers (“Top 2 things I must get done today:”), problem solving companions (“New responses I can try next time my child has a meltdown:”), storytelling props (“Funny incident I must remember to build into my intro at the next team building event:”) or even healing buddies (“The things that make me feel safe:”).
I don’t journal, I make lists. I tame storms and monsters by removing nouns and itemizing. And I am grateful that, in the end, I found my own way back to writing.
Thank you for reading,
Adina
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Of course on a closer inspection things are a bit more nuanced than that, with many variables and unknowns at play as this systematic review and meta-analysis from 2022 shows.
I'm a list-maker through and through, but with writing (emails 99% of the time) for anything over a single sentence I will usually write, rewrite and re-order paragraphs a few times, beyond the length of time that the response really needs - often it could have been resolved with a phone call, but I like the 'audit trail' aspect of email comms.
One pattern I have is that I'll commonly move the final paragraph to be the first. I am also pretty ruthless at slashing word count (especially with other people's verbose powerpoints), my rule being halve the words, then halve them again. I also use AI to refactor longer emails.
I often think of the cautionary "Fresh Fish Caught Today" anecdote. A fishmonger puts up a sign that reads “Fresh Fish Caught Today” and someone suggests trimming it:
“Fresh Fish Today” – the word “caught” is unnecessary.
“Fresh Fish” – no one sells day-old fish
“Fish” – why would it not be “fresh”?
Eventually, no sign at all – “they can smell it!”
My version of journalling is using a mind map, so somewhere between a journal and a list? I find it helps me tidy my mind, realise my priorities and breathe a little easier! Usually that becomes a list for the day to day.