I’m a writer. I’ve always been a writer. Through journaling, that is. Journaling has always been an escape for me. A sacred place to write my thoughts, dreams, aspirations and secrets. I used to have one of those silly journals that are popular among adolescent girls with a tiny lock and key to keep it shut safely. As if you wouldn’t lose the key, or your parents could pry it off without any tool at all. Those journals are laughable really, but they give young girls a feeling of safety and security. Mine had Tweety Bird on the cover. It’s vivid in my memory, but I’m not even sure what kind of stuff went into it. I know some people who have a collection of journals from their very first one to their current one. I admire that, but I would need a whole extra bedroom in my house if I were to do that. I’ve filled in so many journals in my lifetime. I’m now a 31-year-old woman, and I have about 5 different journals going at one time. They are sprawled throughout my house. You just never know when you’re going to need to write something down. Especially at the speed my brain operates. My mind tends to spiral, and I need to get it out of my head like NOW, hence the spread of journals. At this point in my life, I trust that no one will read them, nor do I care. As a teenage girl, my mindset was totally different. I had a lot of struggles with my mental health at the time, and anyone who reads my journal would be appalled and maybe a bit worried. 

My mom actually did this. She was notorious for finding my journals, books, pieces of paper, etc.., and reading them. I remember one time specifically when I was probably about 12 and I had this beautiful velvet covered red journal with the word “Secrets” engraved on the front with gold lettering. The pages were gilded, and it was a lovely journal, and I wrote in it often. But I kept it under my mattress, because apparently, I already knew at that age that my privacy may be invaded by someone else reading it. My mom’s best friend, who is basically an aunt to me, bought it for me. She lived in a swanky part of Minneapolis at the time, and she took me to some cool shop, and I went to pick something out. The journal is what I picked. It turns out I was right about someone reading it. That someone was my mom. She flipped out because I got in trouble for something, so she turned my room upside down. I wasn’t into drugs or anything, so I think the complete “contraband search” was a bit unnecessary, but it happened none the less. Alas, she found my little book of secrets, and there were in fact some secrets in that little red book. One of them was that I vandalized the boy’s bathroom at a park with a permanent marker. I remember us writing things on the stall like “boys are dumb” and “girls rule” and stuff like that. None of them were vulgar, but obviously still a bad choice. Another was that I had a MySpace (yes that ages me a bit). That’s when she really lost it and took my bedroom door off the hinges and took my door away for about a week or so. Her reason behind that was the MySpace, and it being a public display of my adolescent life. If I didn’t want privacy, I wouldn’t have gotten any. Even in my own home. I don’t really know what else I had written down in there, but those two I remember for sure. I also remember feeling embarrassed and ashamed.  

Now look at me. I’m leaving journals around like it’s no big deal because I’ve grown and changed, and I honestly just don’t care anymore. If someone wants to read my innermost thoughts- let them (thank you Mel Robbins). They would sure see that I’m a neurotic little control freak who needs to make lists and has a lot to say to people who have done me wrong and haven’t stood by me in times of need. They would see that I’m a highly anxious person, just trying to remove the thoughts from my brain and place them on paper in an attempt to feel better. They would see that I care too much about the way people perceive me, and they would also see that I maybe care too much about the people I love (is that a thing?). And here I am, basically journaling online for the world to see (i really don’t care anymore, do I?). It’s an outlet. It’s become something I now want to share with the world because if even one person can take something away from my writing, that’s amazing. I want that someone or someONES to know that they are not alone in this weird crazy but also beautiful thing we experience every day and call it “life”. So that’s just it. Take what you want from this. I don’t claim to be an expert in ANYTHING. And if anyone knows anything about something, I would love to hear about it. I promise to be raw. I promise to be real. I also promise to be a bit ridiculous. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk. I’m new here, so bear with me. That’s all for now. 

Talk Soon,  

Corrah