The Drawer of "Me"

Journal Time!

What Old Journals Teach Us About Ourselves

This morning, I was looking for my Kindle.  I was going to sit on the patio and read for a bit.  I opened the drawer I thought it was in but instead, I found an entire drawer of “me”.

I laughed when I saw the old arm band that I used to wear to hold my phone when I went to the gym.  Much too small for the I-phone I have now.  There was also a magazine about witches. “The Truth Behind The Legends & Lore” .  I went through a phase of wanting to research witches and witchcraft (no judgement please).  But underneath the magazine was a stack of my old journals. Some leather-bound, some spiral notebooks, a few half-filled, others bursting at the seams. When I pulled them out, it felt like I had stumbled across a time capsule I didn’t even remember burying.

Witches Stage of Life

I sat down and started reading. And just like that, I fell down the rabbit hole and started reading.

There were lists—so many lists. Grocery lists, to-do lists, lists of books to read, places to travel, goals to achieve, even lists of things I wanted to “stop doing.” (Spoiler alert: I never stopped doing some of them.) Apparently, I thought “buy milk, fix world peace, and clean out closet” could all happen on a Saturday afternoon. My younger self was optimistic if nothing else.

There were also love notes. Not the kind you pass in middle school, but things Jim had written to me.  Little moments of tenderness or funny comments that I taped to the inside of my journal. Reading them now made me smiled as much as I had when I read them for the first time.

And then, the random sketches of things I had no idea what they were, the random pictures of places we had visited, my first ski pass, the advertisement for a pumping and hauling service (we were helping put on a MVOR -caving/camping weekend, and needed port-a-potties) and photos taped in of places I wanted to go.  Time has a way of softening the edges of memory, but looking through the journals made things fresh and warm again.

Of course, there were also pages that were sad. The ones that likely had tear stains. The ones when life got tough and I was overwhelmed. It was strange reading them now, knowing that when I wrote the words, I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through—but I did. Sometimes, it’s only when we look back that we see how strong we really were.

The Spirituality of Journals

I’ve been writing since I was a little girl. Sadly, because I’ve moved so many times, most of my early journals are gone. Mistake. A big one. I wish I could sit with that younger version of me now, just to read what I had written. 

But maybe that’s part of the spiritual practice of journaling—it isn’t always about keeping every word forever. Sometimes it’s about what the act of writing does for us in the moment. It’s meditative, reflection, therapy, and creativity all rolled into one. Which is what I love about journaling. 

Still, the ones I have from the last 15 years or so definitely tell a story. They’re proof that we’re always evolving. Our handwriting changes. Our priorities change. The questions we ask change. Even the way we talk to the Universe or to ourselves changes.

When I read back through my journals, I see the threads of me weaving together, sometimes messy, sometimes tangled, but always moving forward. There were stories about therapy sessions (yep, lots of therapy sessions!), vacations, desires, and dreams.

The Humor in the Past

Of course, not everything was deep and spiritual. Some pages were downright hilarious.

At one point, I was apparently convinced I was going to take up rock painting. Yes, you read that right. Somewhere in 2012, I wrote an entire page of ideas for painting inspirational quotes on smooth little stones. I had plans to leave them around parks and walking trails for strangers to find. And also, plans to put one in each of the herb plants that I would plant.

The best part? I didn’t even own paint at the time. Or brushes. Or, frankly, much artistic ability beyond doodling flowers in the margins of my grocery lists. 

This really made me laugh! Who was she, that woman who thought rock painting might be her new calling? And then again… why not? Maybe we all need those little side quests that never quite go anywhere. They remind us that happiness doesn’t always have to be productive.

Or the time I bought a hula hoop and wrote down that I was going to hula hoop 5 minutes each day as part of my exercise routing.  Right……..

Lists …. Oh, the Lists

But back to the lists. Because truly, if there’s one thing I learned from flipping through my journals, it’s that I am, at my core, a list maker. A true, honest to goodness, list maker.

I’ve made lists about everything—meals, travel, books, workouts, dreams, recipes, even conversations I wanted to have. It may look like I’m crazy, but the truth is, lists are little markers of who we are in a moment.

Take an old grocery list:

• Yogurt

• Almond Butter

• Shampoo

• A reminder to “call David”

Those aren’t just errands—they’re a snapshot of my life. It’s what I was eating, what I cared about, and who mattered to me that week.

Or a goal list:

• Plant herbs

• Go to London

• Read more spiritual books

• Learn to let go

Some of those boxes got checked. Others are still waiting. Some were laughably ambitious. (I once wrote, “Learn French by the time we leave for Paris.” Clearly, I overestimated myself and underestimated the French language.)

But all of them were me.

And that’s the magic. Lists may seem ordinary, but they tell extraordinary stories.

Meeting Your Self

Reading old journals is a little like sitting down for coffee with your previous self.

Sometimes she makes you laugh. Sometimes she makes you cringe. Sometimes she makes you want to reach across time and give her a hug.

But she always, always reminds you of something important: you’ve grown. You’ve changed. You’ve survived things she wasn’t sure you would. And you’ve become someone she probably couldn’t have imagined yet.

What Journals Remind Us Of

As I closed the drawer today when I put them back in, I realized this: journaling isn’t about being profound. It isn’t about writing beautifully, or even consistently. It’s about capturing the ordinary moments that become extraordinary when you look back. It honestly has made me tear up.

It’s about the grocery lists that show what you were eating.It’s about the notes from your partner that remind you love is real. It's about the prayers you whispered to the Universe when you didn’t know what else to do. It's about the silly ideas (like rock painting) that still make me laugh years later.

It’s about holding a mirror to your life and realizing, I was there. I mattered. And I still do.

A Nudge For You

So here’s my gentle nudge to you:

Pull out an old journal. Or start a new one. Write lists, write prayers, write nonsense, write gratitude. Don’t worry about whether it’s “important” enough. Because one day, years from now, you’ll open a drawer and just like me, you’ll find a whole version of yourself waiting to be rediscovered.

You might just laugh, cry, and whisper a little “thank you” to the person you used to be.

And if you don't know how to even start a journal, check out my free download of journal prompts here on my website!

With much love,

Ruthie