The story of getting rid of my journals
It was a covert mission (not really).
One bright, late spring day a small, blonde woman was driving into the foothills, toward the canyons. She pulled onto a rutted, gravel dirt road in deep contemplation. She had the demeanor of one on a mission, yet exuded calm. The woman wound her way into what appeared to be a compound, pulling up to a derelict shack where, in very few words, she received instructions and nodded in agreement. This was serious business!
At the assigned location she backed her vehicle into the cage and got out, scanning the area for witnesses. The woman placed her hand on her heart. (Was she scared and going to pass out? Was it too much for her?) She reached into her vehicle, pulled out a strange, bright pink floral bag, and with a huge sigh of relief, released it into the void. Then turned to do it again.
After accomplishing what she came to do she returned to her vehicle and slowly wound her way back out of the canyon. As she drove away, dust billowing in the breeze, we could hear strains of G&R belting out Paradise City and we knew that girl was alright!
Read on Dear One to find out what the heck she was up to…
Welcome to the true story of the release of my journals. But first, I must stop the telling of this tale to say THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART❤. If you made it to this paragraph it is because you chose to join my Membership Circle, a select group of readers who are showing up to support my work. This is a very big deal to me, to be paid for my writing, please know that you have my immense gratitude! xoxo
Back to the story…my journals bore a lifetime of writing where I poured everything I had onto the page to sort out my thoughts on being a human. The books held the stories of me becoming an adult, a chiropractor, a wife, a mom, and a sober person. They held my son’s birth stories and the death of my close friend's daughter to suicide. The words carried any wisdom I had earned on my journey as well as the teachings of my mentors along the way. They were an extension of me.
I had always envisioned myself reading through my journals in my old age, recalling my life. Yet as I got older I realized that was unlikely to happen. I am simply not wired that way because, it seems, I rarely look back. I never pour over old pictures and reminisce - in 28 years I have watched a small part of my wedding video once and very rarely pulled out old videos of my children. I realized that carrying these journals for a lifetime, thinking I'll read over them as an oldie, is incongruent with the kind of elder I'm aiming to be. So that had been rolling around in my mind.
Naturally, when one uses their journal the way I did, as a personal therapist, you wonder about those words on the page if something ever happens to you. They did not contain any big exotic secrets. I was not a spy, nor had I ever had a clandestine love affair. (I just had to throw that phrase in there – the thought of a clandestine love affair just makes your imagination run wild, doesn't it? But that was not a part of my life story). Rather, the pages simply bore witness to daily life frustration & confusion that, if taken out of context, could be misinterpreted. You can be frustrated & angry yet love your children with your entire heart. You can think your husband is an asshole on a particular day, be sobbing with confusion about your feelings, and stick it out to grow a more solid, loving & amazing marriage. As evolving humans we are all things, sometimes at the same time. This is what was vividly portrayed on the pages of my journal and could easily be misconstrued. So that had also been rolling around in my mind.
My journey of growth and exploration has brought me to a pivotal point in the last two years - I am no longer the same person I was. It became increasingly uncomfortable to reconcile where I am now with the woman on those pages. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not discarding her; I carry her with me always. I'm deeply thankful for both her lessons and the effort that got me here. But a deep inner part of me recognizes that I don't have to pack her, and her baggage, with me for the remainder of the ride. I no longer want to be tethered to her and my journals were increasingly feeling like a bind. So that was one more thing that had been rolling around in my mind.
This is why, after a lot of thought, prayer & contemplation, I was compelled to release my journals. To fully let go of the woman I was so I can freely move toward my truest, best self (OK that one deserves an eye roll for its pure corniness, but it's true!). I want to consciously embody my growth from a different place and taking this step was a tangible way of marking that.
So that’s all well and good but what was I actually going to DO with all these personal journals? The whole operation took a little figuring! How do you dispose of thirty handwritten, very personal books when you live in a small, rural community where everyone knows you? A bonfire in my backyard would have seemed strange and likely aroused the local fire department, most of whom I know. Digging a big hole in the yard would have had my husband both asking questions and wanting to help. Hmm, what’s a girl to do?
In the end, I decided to take them to the landfill in the city where my parents lived for decades. This worked because a) I know no one and b) we took a lot of stuff there when we were cleaning out my parent’s home after my Dad died so it held an energetic pull for me.
This entire process was done mindfully. I removed the pages I wanted to keep - the ones I wrote when I was preparing to quit drinking so I would have a tangible reminder of why I did it should I ever choose to sip the vino again. My wedding, opening our clinic, the births of my children…you get the idea. Then I loaded the books up, drove for 3 hours, and released them into the landfill to drive away feeling much lighter!
Letting go was both a physical and energetic monumental life shift. Looking myself straight in the eye over the last couple of decades to address what I found there was damn hard, often painful, work. I know the effort of self-exploration doesn’t end but I do feel like I have turned a corner in becoming clear on what is important to me.
I want to move forward differently, to examine life under a microscope of interest rather than irritation. I want to bring awareness to what is unchanging inside of me, around me, and beyond me. There is a vastness to which nothing needs to be added, certainly not my petty grievances recorded on the page. I’ve decided I can do better than that.
There’s only one sticking point (of course there is!). How will I cope without writing in a journal when it has become my lifeblood? I plan to write differently by continuing to keep a journal without commenting on every wrong done to me. It will be about appreciation for the nuances of my life, the ones I can deeply feel, not the Hallmark platitudes that seem to go in a gratitude journal. It will be a whole new level of personal therapy. Also, I am now writing to you! Creating this Membership Circle has brought me a community who are here by choice. This is an exceptional thing, a lifetime dream of mine and this combination will bring a very different energy to my writing. Thank you so much.
How about you?
Do you keep a journal?
Are you in the keep forever or get-rid-of-them-so-no-one-reads-it-when-I’m-gone camp?
Have you had any big life shifts that didn’t require your whole life to crash & burn? This has been on my mind lately, it seems most people need a huge event to happen TO them in order to wake up. We can do better.
xox
The greater reality of a situation lies in its content…
I deeply welcome your questions for my first AMA (Ask Me Anything) Issue. Really! Fire away with whatever you’re curious about or a stumbling block or a how to…there is no such thing as a bad question. I’ll be stoked to read every single one and I will not be sharing where they came from so your question will remain confidential. Go nuts Hon!
I’m not sure if I will answer in written or audio form but I will compile the questions and try to address as many as I can in one special edition of The Bright Life. Email me with whatever you have, donnamcarthur@substack.com.
If you enjoyed my journal surrendering story please drop me a ❤ or a comment. It seems to be important in cyberland!
This was a really beautiful read Donna. It hit home for me in a deep way.
I love the way you started the piece in one perspective and then circled back to explain the initial story.
I also found your acknowledgment of the many different sides of us complex humans to be a very valuable point especially in the context of our journals. It made me think about my own journals and how if anyone was ever to read them they would probably conclude that I’m insane because of how all over the place my entries are depending on how I am feeling and what has happened that day.
I also felt that your piece conveyed the value of letting go in a way that allows one to move forward. And I think doing a concrete act - like disposing of your old journals - as a way to symbolise that letting go, is a very powerful thing indeed.
Hi sweetie. I love being part of your membership circle already. I love your mission and message. When the Artists Way was first published I wrote two pages everyday. Later I wrote in journals haphazardly. And then I stopped. I wasn’t feeling better. The journals and therapy kept me on a hamster wheel. Two months of EMDR was more helpful than 20 years of therapy. More recently I’ve been journaling with a mission. I decided I prefer active meditation to other types. I’m doing mind body work that includes personal growth. I’ve never been more motivated and joyful. While I’m still working on healing I am loving life. Your post resonated. Thank you. 🙏❤️