Journaling Then and ........Now

I have kept a journal since elementary school. The first one I remember writing was actually a book of poems. My first poem went like this:

There was an old hen when the clock struck ten,
a little while later someone eat ‘er.

Yes, I know so very Emily Dickenson of me- what can I say I was five. My aunt kept a journal and so did my grandmother. My mother just keeps a date book of sort. My grandmother’s was more of a diary- always including the weather, what she ate that day, and what she did. You would think that I would have a ton of journals; though I have quite a few, I do not have a ton. I am a spurt journaler, there are times when I write compulsively for days and many of my journals cover a year’s time with entries daily or weekly. Then there are times when...well...not so much.

I did write a lot more B.K. (before Kids)- I was going to use the acronym B.M. ( before motherhood) but that might have the possibility to be miss-understood.

In my youth I always wrote tons when I was in emotional distress, it was-(is) sort of a catalyst for clarity. Journaling helped/helps sort of the myriad of confusion that often comes with the said distress. Now mind you there are a few of journals that are well hid- there are some things my children just don’t need to read at a young age. Thankfully being the apprehensive person I have always been, I wrote a lot in code-some I cannot even decipher any more. There are symbols, which represent certain important things. And I must say some of my single years journals are quite cryptic.

There are many times when my memory of events has become distorted with time-can anyone relate to that- you know the fish that grows bigger each time the story is retold. Then I get a reality check when I re-read what really went down on any given event that I recorded.

Now.......My journaling has been altered………….my journals are now both a place to record what I might be feeling or doing and a place to express artistic expression. Altering blank pages make them a happy place to put my words. They become pretty places to write and sometimes the art is all I need to do to express my mood.

These journals hold so many pieces of me: poems, thoughts, turmoil, joy, fear, love- and the feeling that accompanies it-they hold dreams and lists of dreams, resolutions both failed and successful. I have journals just for holidays and family vacations, and most precious are the words recorded after the births of my children. Tender words of hope and love::: words of newborn smells and future worries. They are chronicles of our life, bits and bobs of history that will only matter to us.

Someday my children will read some of these words I have written and know their mother in a new way.

They will know of my unconditional love for them and their father, they will see::I too felt afraid as a new parent and vulnerable and confused as a teen.

Photo albums mark out our memories, journals mark out who we are.