So, I pulled out my journal earlier this evening to write about something that was frustrating me. (My poor journal. It’s filled with angst upon angst upon angst.) It’s just kind of how I cope. As soon as something happens that’s yucky or painful or maddening or annoying or [insert negative descriptor here], I reach for my journal and pen.
And I get it all out, and I can breathe again.
It’s so much cheaper than counseling (which I’m not opposed to–and have been to in the past year). Or breaking things (which I am opposed to, because it never ends well) .
So, I opened my journal tonight, ready to vent, and I realized that I had started–and not finished–a little list of 5 thankful-for’s. I started this list thing back in the day (two years ago?) when I read Ann Voskamp’s 1,000 Gifts. It all began with five little numbers down the left side of my journal page:
And listing things I’m thankful for. Before long, I was all the way up to big numbers like:
And today when I opened my journal to rage about something, I saw:
And the OCD in me wouldn’t let me write about my troubles until I’d filled in those blank spaces with things like, “Gabe is outside playing soccer with a bunch of high schoolers.” And, “I got to hold a 5-pound, 2-day-old Somali baby yesterday.” And, “Lots of laundry done today at the Wash & Tan.” And “Flowers on the trees!! Finallly!” And “So much laughter in the air.”
And somehow, after I filled in my Thanks Blanks, I wasn’t quite as angsty.