Telling your story

Your Story Matters (Even If No One Ever Reads It)

There seems to be a quiet little myth floating around that if you’re going to write, it has to be for someone — for an audience, for social media, for a book deal, for posterity. As if words only matter if they’re witnessed.

I’d like to gently smash that myth with a journaling pen.

Because the truth is this: telling your story through journaling is powerful even if no one ever reads a single word of it. Not your spouse. Not your kids. Not your best friend. Not some future biographer. Just you and the page.

And that might be the most powerful kind of storytelling there is.

When you write in a journal, you are doing something radical: you are becoming a witness to your own life. Not the version of you that’s curated for holidays or Facebook comments — but the real, messy, half-formed, contradictory, vulnerable truth of being human.

There is enormous healing in that alone.

Most of us carry around unprocessed thoughts like unopened mail. We stuff them into mental drawers: regrets, grief, anger, old conversations we replay at 3 a.m., dreams we never voiced, things we never dared say aloud. Journaling opens those drawers. Gently. Without judgment.

It gives your mind a place to unload the clutter.

Science backs this up, by the way. Studies show that expressive writing lowers stress, improves immune function, and helps regulate emotions. But even beyond the research, there’s something deeply human about it. When you put words to feelings, you take something wild and swirling and give it shape. A beginning. A middle. Sometimes even an end.

And here’s the beautiful part: your journal doesn’t care if you repeat yourself, contradict yourself, or change your mind every three entries. It doesn’t interrupt. It doesn’t say, “You already told me this.” It doesn’t offer unsolicited advice. It simply holds whatever you bring to it.

When you journal, you start to see patterns. Patterns in your thinking. Patterns in your relationships. Patterns in what drains you and what lights you up. You begin to notice how often you shrink yourself, how often you doubt, how often you forget to extend yourself the same compassion you give to others.

And awareness is the first step toward change.

But journaling isn’t just for untangling the hard stuff. It’s also a place to notice the good. The tiny wins. The moments of quiet joy. The way the light came through the window this morning. The laugh you didn’t expect. Over time, your journal becomes proof that your life wasn’t just a string of obligations — it was filled with moments worth remembering.

You don’t have to be “a good writer” to journal. Your journal is not English class. It doesn’t care about grammar, structure, or complete sentences. You can write lists. Fragments. Angry rants. Prayers. Love letters you never send. You can scribble. You can write one sentence or five pages.

You only have to tell the truth — your truth — as you know it in that moment.

And here’s another secret: journaling isn’t about creating a perfect record of the past. Memory is messy. Biased. Emotional. Journaling is about creating a relationship with yourself in the present. It’s about showing up for the version of you who is here right now, in this breath, in this season of life.

Even if your journal stays tucked away in a drawer forever… even if it’s burned one day… even if no one ever knows it existed… its value doesn’t disappear.

Because while you were writing, you were listening.

While you were telling your story, you were honoring it.

And while you were journaling, you were reclaiming something essential:

Your voice.

Your truth.

Your life — as yours.

And that, my friend, is more than enough.

Julie Bolejack, MBA

juliebolejack.com