Visiting my childhood home always stirs up a lot of emotions for me – both positive and negative. The process of going through my old bedroom and finding memory boxes everywhere containing old photos, poems, school projects (I was a bit of a hoarder as a child) all stir up yesterday’s feelings. And then there are the journals.
During my most recent trip home, I went through these old journals. I even read some passages out loud to my boyfriend (now that’s when you know it’s real – when you feel comfortable enough to reveal your embarrassing middle school self). The oldest one I found was dated 2005… as in eleven years ago… as in I was fourteen years old! Just a crazy experience reading the thoughts of the 14 year old version of yourself.
I had recently started journaling sporadically in December for the first time since college. It hit me back at my mom’s house how much journaling means to me.
Which leads me to… three things journaling taught me about myself.