“good morning, dear journal”

every morning starts the same. with a cup of coffee by my side and a pilot G-2 07 ink pen in my right hand. i open my dollar store composition notebook and proceed to write “good morning, dear journal.’ if i forget and dive right into a story, i stop mid-word, backtrack, and write it in parentheses, like an apology… greeting my journal is like taking a breath first. it’s like saying, ‘good morning, dear journal, i’m going to smother you in thoughts, so before i do, let’s reset with good morning.’

it’s a small ritual i look forward to every morning, and it steadies me. before the world starts, i get to arrive to myself first. i don’t worry about how bad my handwriting is, but i do try to spell every word correctly. some mornings i write about dreams and other days it’s a math problem, working out purchases or debts, dreaming of financial stability. sometimes it’s a half-formed prayer or a simply replay of the day. by greeting the page, i remember i’m allowed to take up space here.

the writing often feels like conversation and other times a translation, trying to understand what my mind is really saying. i have learned that not everything needs to be spoken out loud. some of it can be too much for anyone else to hold, and that’s okay. these pages are where i process what i don’t always say, where i practice trusting myself again. my goal isn’t to seek validation in others, but to rebuild faith in my own mind.

there was a time when my mind felt like the biggest mystery i couldn’t wrap my head around. journaling has turned my mind into a friend i actually really enjoy getting to know. it’s funny because the more i write, the more i realize my thoughts aren’t scary at all. they’re just chatty. sometimes they want to vent, but mostly they want to dream. by showing up every morning, i’ve learned my mind isn’t something to fix, it’s something to listen to. and honestly, we’ve gotten pretty close.

every morning starts with that same 4 word greeting, and somehow it never gets old. good morning, dear journal. it’s a reminder that no matter how scattered or sleepy or human i feel, i get to write again. that notebook does not judge any of my words, no matter how bashful or chaotic. it’s just mere evidence that i show up for myself.

that has to be what i love the most about this ritual. it’s not an attempt to write something profound or even coherent. it’s about being documenting the little sounds that run through my mind. some mornings the pen moves way too fast and other days it drags and there’s twenty minutes between every sentence, but either way it lets me be. the journal doesn’t interrupt, it doesn’t rush and it has never asked me to be someone i’m not. it holds the moment as is.

and in that writing, i’m doing the same for myself. i’m learning to meet my own thoughts with kindness, to start the day in conversation with something calmer than noise. it’s my way of saying to the day, to my mind, to God, and to the part of me still waking up, good morning, blessed is another day.