Most of us can remember a time – especially during our teenage years – when we were angry at one or both of our parents. At that stage of life, even the smallest misunderstanding can make us feel victimised, misunderstood, or unheard. Add teenage hormones to the mix, and you’ve got rage at best, if not resentment.

Maybe you were that teenager too – the one with a bit of ego and a hint of attitude. Perhaps, like many of us, you carried a sense of entitlement without even realising it, shaped by how the world treated you when you were little.

I certainly was one; a mischievous teen with a sense of rebellion. Perhaps what explains it is the uninterrupted attention my grandfather poured on me, mainly because I was his first grandchild. He was a loving, strong man, but I absorbed his personality in many wrong ways.

Today, I look back at that girl with a warm smile. It took a lot of work and a lot of self-reflection to get to this point. But now I have lots of love and gratitude toward her, although she still needs some discipline at times.

I’m also grateful for the anger. My fury at the time gave birth to something that now plays a central role in my life: journaling.

Although my journaling path started with anger, it has since transformed into a peace-keeping ritual. Accounts of how my mom didn’t understand me, how my father didn’t care, and how different I was and how I belonged somewhere else transformed into expressions of how much I cherish each member of my family, including their quirks.

If you love to write, and even if writing is not your thing, taking time to sit with yourself is one of the kindest things you can do. There’s so much more to say about journaling and how it can transform our relationship with ourselves, but I’ll save that for another post.

For now, I’m dedicating this blog to all journaling enthusiasts out there, asking them to share what this practice means to them, how they journal, and what tips they can give their fellow ‘journalers’ 😉