Life is not a smooth ride. Sometimes, it’s like construction on the interstate or a backroad full of potholes, and you’re just holding on tight, praying you don’t lose a tire again on your way home. And who’s got time for that? You’re out here (let’s be real, you is me, too) trying to make a soul calling out of a lifestyle, but it feels like everything’s pulling you in a hundred different directions.
And when you pause to try to make sense of it all, the right words just don’t come to you.
It’s almost like that feeling when you’re just thinking life sucks, and you’re trying to catch your breath. Or feeling like the world’s moving faster than you can keep up. On some days, life definitely feels sh*tty and foggy—as though it’s right there, hitting the surface, but not quite going any further
I, too, would love to feel somewhat centered, but most times, I can’t even hear my own thoughts.
You and I know life ain’t always pretty. If you’ve been feelin’ as though you’re stuck in the middle of a mess you didn’t ask for, trust me—you’re not alone.
We all have those parts of ourselves we try to hide, that inner voice that tells us we’re not enough (whatever the hell that means) or that we’re not where we thought we’d be by now (residual regrets, anyone? Me too).
Let’s be honest. Life is heavy sometimes— all the noise, all the questions, and “shoulds” and ‘what ifs” stacking up until you don’t even recognize your own life anymore. You’re searching for the right words, but nothing lands right.
Maybe you’ve tried to journal your story before but those old journals feel more like a reminder of what you didn’t finish, the chapters you skipped, the goals you forgot, the steps you failed to climb. And now you’re just here, wondering if inner peace is still even possible.
Here’s the truth no one tells you: your mess is your magic. Those pages filled with half-thoughts and scratched-out sentences? They’re not a failure; they’re your foundations for authentic journal writing.
That’s why journaling matters. It’s a place to be vulnerable—to throw it all on the page and let the pen do the talking. Whether you’re flipping through old journals filled with heartbreak and half-finished dreams or starting afresh, every word you write is a step toward owning your life and finding your way back to yourself.
It’s a way to take stock of where you’ve been, dream about where you’re going, and face what’s staring back at you in the mirror.
Think of it as your own campfire, where you can sit down with your past, fears, and wildest dreams. It’s where you make peace with the parts of you that feel too messy. And if you ask me, there ain’t a better way to start a spiritual journey than by getting real with yourself.
Writing takes all the content swirling in your head and lays it down. It gives you space to look at your life—like, really look—and say, “Okay, this is where I am. What’s next?” This is your chance to tap into detailed information about who you are, not for anyone else but for you.
When you give yourself permission to show up as you are, everything starts to shift.
Journaling is as personal as your favorite old pair of boots. Whether you’re someone who needs structure or someone who needs to let it flow, there’s a way to make it yours:
You don’t have to limit yourself to just one. Your story isn’t one-dimensional, mix it up with different journals! There’s no one-size-fits-all here.
Look, you don’t need to write a novel whenever you sit down. Journaling is about creating a safe place and meeting yourself where you are—whether that’s a single word, a random paragraph, or just a stream of consciousness that makes zero sense.
Here’s how to keep the practice of journaling light but real:
When it comes down to it, journaling is about claiming your story—the good, the bad, and the downright ugly (and the ‘f&#k that’ things too). It’s about owning your life and letting the truth pour out, even when it’s messy to find yourself. Especially when it’s messy.
So grab your pen, your paper, and a little bit of courage. This is your time to get real, grow, and create the life you’ve been dreaming of. The magic is already in you. You’ve just gotta write it down.
That is how you own your life.
On some days, journaling seemslike a moment of quiet time curated specifically to catchyour breath after holding it for too long.
On other days, it’s like an old journal falling apart—worn and ugly but far from a blank book and full of secret sauce (or wisdom, that’s cool too).
Then you realize journaling is just proof of the spiritual experiences that create our daily lives when you’re not afraid to show up, no matter how difficultit gets. That’s when you uncover the pieces of your daily life are too beautiful, too wild, to keep hiding.
Now, I am no creature of habit as much as I am a person of ritual. Sure, I like a little structure, but I’ve spent too much time chasing it in all the wrong places. Routines fall flat for me, but consistent practices—the ones that pull me back into my skin and remind me who I am underneath the layers of lifestyle and identity—are those I can hold onto.
That’s why journaling feels so good to me. I don’t feel inclined to follow a set of rules or make it look pretty for anyone else; it’s a vibe for me only. To let my thoughts breathe, my soul stretch, and my body loosen its grip on the weight of the world I didn’t even know I was hauling around.
If I could sit down and talk to my yesterday self, I’d tell her this:
Journaling isn’t something you’re supposed to get “right.” It’s something you feel your way through.
It’s toughand sometimes scary. Exciting. It’s real; if you let it, it can free your soul.
Here’s what I’d say to help her get started—no boxs, no pressure, just space to be exactly who you are:
Journaling might seem like sitting down with your thoughts, but it’s got a lot more heart than that. It’s a way to physically let go in a safe space—like rolling the windows down in the your favorite backroad and letting the ride take your worries.
Like writing, movement can do that, too. Before you sit down to write, try moving your body—skate, surf, or flow through a few yoga poses. Let the movements loosen up the thoughts stuck inside your body. Our thoughts are so deeply influenced by our mind-body connections.
Your writing space should feel like an extension of yourself—soft, and alive. Think of it as a mood board of sacred spaces you can step into.
Drape yourself in textures that calm your body and open your mind (I like knit sweats). It could be a plush blanket or the coolness of the floor pillow. Light a candle that smells like a memory—fresh rain, cedarwood, or the smoke from a campfire. And let music hold you with a playlist that fits your vibe.
This practice is good. It weaves the right amount of ritual into your everyday life and ordinary moments. Writing becomes a helpful practice to connect deeper with yourself and the world.
Sometimes, my head feels like it’s trying to play bodyguard for my heart. Like, “Nah, you can’t go there, it’s too much.” (Big love to my overthinkers—we stay trying to keep it all under control.) You want to write, but your brain’s out here throwing shade, telling you to chill, or, my favorite, just quit.
Here’s what I do: tell your head to take five. Let your soul step up and run the show. Set a timer for five minutes and go in. No rules, no backspace key, no side-eyes from your inner critic. Don’t think, don’t edit, don’t try to sound smart. Set the mood: Light that candle, find that half-full notebook with ripped edges, and say “Siri, play Ring Road.” And write.
Try this too: “If I could say what I really feel, it would sound like…” Then, don’t stop until your timer does. Don’t be scared to follow it down the rabbit hole. That’s where your truth hides.
Journal your story as a love letter to myself is just a whole vibe. IYKYK.
Here’s how to turn it into a sacred moment:
Writing like this feels less like a task and more like slipping into a space just for me. A place to sit with my soul thoughts.
When I look back on some of the journals I’ve written, I swear, I’ll read through them and be like, “What the literal f%#k was I thinking?” “Girl, what in the cosmic spiral were you even on?” But then, yoga off the mat kicks in, and I realize it’s not about judging her. It’s about honoring her.
Sitting with her—the version of me who wrote in those journals—and letting her feel seen. I laugh with her, cry with her, or give her a knowing nod like, “Yeah, I get it now.”
Journaling is a time machine. It’s how I meet the me I’m becoming, too. I listen to her whispers about where I’m headed. She keeps me grounded when the world spins too fast and hyped when the dream feels too far.
And you can do that, too. Write like you’re penning a love letter to you that’s still blooming.
Journaling is that soft corner you didn’t know you needed, the one that feels like sitting on the edge of yourself, finally catching your breath.
It’s where your mind, body, and soul can cut through the small talk. With the right questions—the ones that feel like they’ve been waiting just for you—you can spill your truth, turn it over, and see what’s been hiding in the cracks of real spiritual growth. No pressure to make it pretty, just let blank pages fill.
And listen, learning how to journal your story doesn’t always look like flipping through old chapters and getting lost in what was. It’s about stretching toward what’s next, shaking off what doesn’t fit anymore, and stepping into that messy, sacred, wild version of you that’s waiting.
Growth lives in that in-between—the raw space where you write the things you didn’t even know you needed to say. That’s where the light breaks through.
Feeling ready to journal your story? Grab the free reflection cards to spark those breakthroughs, or dive into the Backroads personalized journal—it’s got your back every step of the way. This is your moment to show up for the story only you can tell.
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