journal writing

What Don’t I Know – Day 836

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My Mother – 1939

What Don’t I Know

Perhaps it’s because my mother was 42 when she had me – and her mother was 42 when she had her. I don’t even know if I know how old my mother’s grandmother was when she had my grandmother; it’s been a while since I logged into my Ancestry account. But that highlights an ache I have deep down: what don’t I know about the people whose genes run through me? Who were they? What did they value most in life? Did they have talents or abilities that I might share if only I knew about them? How did they deal with conflict, adversity, and success?

One of my pre-pandemic secret pleasures was watching Finding Your Roots on PBS. The show, hosted by Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr., traces the ancestral roots of at least two celebrities each episode. Sometimes the lineages of people you’d never think would have any relation to each other do, in fact, intersect. Almost always there’s something quite fascinating uncovered in either the tracing process or the DNA analysis that gives new perspective or insight into themselves to the person lucky enough to be a ‘guest’ on the show.

Full disclosure: there’s no reason I couldn’t watch it now. It just so happened that I would watch the show on the evenings that Karl would be traveling on business and staying somewhere overnight. He doesn’t seem to share my delight in the discoveries made about the lives of other people’s ancestors, and it’s rare I have the television clicker to myself nowadays. (Not that I’m complaining.)

An Amazing Story

I’m bringing this up because I read an astonishing story this morning in The Washington Post that I want to share with you. It’s the story not only of a woman of unfathomable determination and courage. Indeed, her story alone ended up warranting its own book. But even more moving to me is the fascinating reality that her own progeny had no idea how her story, her courage, her choices so profoundly impacted the generations that came after her.

This story captivated me.

The tale of Henrietta Wood’s progeny’s serendipitous discovery of her impressive story was equally delicious in its own way.

Why I Write

There are times when I’m writing in my journal about the mundane details of my life that I wonder if anyone will ever read my words someday and think, “My great grandmother was really strange. No wonder I am the way I am.” OK, maybe I think that when I’m writing about some of the more magical aspects of my life.

But still.

I’m sad that I don’t have the journals of my ancestors. I’d love to know how they thought about things and why they made the choices they did.

I wish I were a celebrity worthy of having my lineage traced by the myriad staffers on Finding Your Roots.

What don’t I know about those who came before me that might completely shift how I think about myself?

(T-275)

Why I Journal – Day 241

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Journal – Oct. ’05 – May ’06 – Photo: L. Weikel

Why I Journal                                  

Very recently I’ve had occasion to wonder aloud about specific experiences or recollections associated with particular dates. (Let me say right here that I apologize profusely for that sentence. It’s a stinker. And I’ve tried fifteen ways from Sunday to rewrite it but it refuses to improve, no matter what I do to it.)

Instead of resting on that outrageous conglomeration of words, let me give you three examples:

You may recall that I mentioned in my post about the Eclipse Season we’re right now in the thick of experiencing, that this particular configuration has not occurred since 2001-ish. And I mentioned that this is a time of major, dramatic change for many people.

It’s often instructive to go back in our memories and look for ourselves to see what, if anything, we were experiencing when a major aspect is heading toward us in the present. Well, that can sound great, but I don’t know about you, but quite honestly, I have a hard time remembering much of anything with specificity from last month, much less 18 years ago.

Cue the Fanfare For Keeping a Journal

Because I keep one, I was able to go back and recall my greatest concerns and challenges of that time. It’s a little wild to recall that I published my book; was by my father’s side when he passed away; and took a new job in a brand new field (development) while uncovering my ‘inner activist,’ whom I’m astonished had kept herself hidden even from me for basically the first 40 years of my life. Not to mention, this was all leading up to my trip to Tuva (Siberia) in ’03 which completely changed the course of my life.

I guarantee, I would not have realized and ‘put together’ all of those life events as having taken place in such a short span of time if I could not read it in black and white. (OK, in my case, it’s written in blue, black, and purple, predominantly, but you get my point.)

Second Situation

The second situation that occurred recently was a question someone asked me about a session they had with me 13 years ago. As anyone whose had a session with me in the past, oh, 11 or 12 years knows, I write a comprehensive ‘follow-up’ email to every client, usually the day after our session. These often take me at least two hours to write up precisely because they are so detailed. Interestingly, I often end up going into a ‘zone’ while I write my follow-ups that sometimes yields additional information or helps me remember even more detail than I might have said out loud the day before, in the session.

The Value of Follow-Ups

But when I first began offering sessions 15 years ago, I did not know enough to offer a written follow-up. I had no idea how valuable keeping track of all of the details I would glean in a session could be to a client. It was only through realizing for myself just how much information I was conveying did I conclude that, if it were me, I’d love a comprehensive record to look back upon of the salient aspects of what took place in my session.

Thus, when my client contacted me and asked what I could remember of a situation that took place back in 2006 (actually, we weren’t even sure at first when the session happened, so fuzzy were our memories) my initial thought was to check my emails. There was no follow up written to her. There were, though, a few emails that referenced the session, which actually enabled us to figure out the exactdate of our work together.

Given that this was still early in my ‘career’ as a shamanic practitioner, I realized I might have written about the experience in my journal, for each and every session was a really big deal to me. (Not that they aren’t now, too – believe me. It’s just that I am more disciplined now with the follow-ups.)

Chock full of life’s details – Photo: L. Weikel

Once Again, Cue the Fanfare For Keeping a Journal.

Yes. Pictured with this post is my journal from October 3, 2005 – May 28, 2006. As you can see, it’s chock full of all sorts of stuff, not least being an amazing amount of detail from the session my client was seeking information about. As a result? I was able to write a startlingly comprehensive follow-up report to my client 13 years after the fact. Needless to say, we were both delighted.

Finally, on a perhaps lesser monumental but nevertheless impressive scale, just today I was able to reference back four months and give someone specific details I’d recorded about a message from Spirit that had come from a most unexpected source. Even more astonishing was the fact that the person I was speaking with today had received a dream the very next night, which directly correlated with the information I’d been given by Spirit.

I Will Aways, Always Cue the Fanfare For Keeping a Journal

I cannot emphasize enough the value of keeping track of the details of our lives. It is because I keep such detailed journals that I am able to write my books. But even beyond that, it’s because I track the details of the amazing occurrences that happen in my life that I’m able to see the connections; I’m able to appreciate the magic Spirit brings into my life – and how it happens on an astonishingly frequent basis.

So many ‘synchronicities’ are happening all around us, all the time. But we need to pay attention and keep track if we’re going to ‘get the message’ – and do something with it.

(T-870)

Dispelling Illusions – Day Sixty Seven

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The Blank Page – Photo by L. Weikel

Dispelling Illusions

Yeah, I know I waxed rhapsodic over my new journal last night. I assure you, it was heartfelt. Truly.

I’m also a real pain in the behind with my clients over keeping a journal. I must bring it up about 15,000 times during a session, and if not quite that many times in the session itself, then most definitely in my follow up correspondences.

I’ve witnessed first hand the myriad times I’ve benefited from having written down my internal observations and feelings. Truly, those times are virtually countless. From documenting details that have served me in great stead to recall, to purging myself of emotions and accusations that could easily have led to vast heartache and further misunderstanding had they been expressed outwardly, to another person, my journal is in fact my very best friend.

Making Connections Helps Us Make Sense of It All

I’ve also seen the proverbial light bulb go on above people’s heads (usually my clients or students – most being both, turns out) when they experience that zing of excitement when a message or experience from the past (which they wrote down) somehow links with an experience or encounter now – and the dots connect in ways that reveal something much greater than they ever would have imagined (or even remembered, had they not written it down in the first place).

It’s in the details. It’s part of honoring our process. And our process includes feeling our fears,  figuring out what we want, describing and immersing ourselves in our really sad and depressed days, expressing our dreams, and reveling in our triumphs – both inner and outer.

I can’t declare more passionately how essential I feel it is to our own self-awareness and growth that we capture on paper (ideally) (but electronically will suffice) (beggars can’t be choosers) (I’ll take a win where I can get it) (I’ll stop speaking in parenthetic phrases now) our innermost understandings of ourselves.

That’s why I keep coming back to the importance of journaling again and again.

Revelations Often Come Within a Single Entry

One of the fascinating things about the transformative nature of journaling is how, more often than not, at least in my experience, the transformation actually takes place within the journal entry itself. Meaning it’s not over a series of journal entries that major shifts take place. That happens for sure, sometimes.

But time and time again, I have sat down with my journal and felt something – some emotion, perhaps, or held an exceedingly strong belief about a particular subject – and by the time I have allowed myself to sit and write and contemplate and perhaps write down all my options, or given voice to all the possible reasons why something may have unfolded the way it did, I notice a distinctly different feeling within myself.

Usually I’ve achieved a sense of peace. Almost always, even if I still have no idea how I want to move forward or what I may be walking into next, I know who I am and how I feel in that moment.

My Journal is My Best Friend

Journaling helps me know who I am. It helps me understand why I think, feel, and behave the way I do in any given moment. And because of that, I think journaling helps me love myself.

Quite honestly, I can’t think of a greater gift I can give to anyone else. That’s why I recommend it like a broken record to anyone and everyone I live with, work with, or care about.

So with all of what I’ve just written, knowing that I have some 63 journals on my library wall and a fresh brand-spanking-new journal just waiting for me to initiate it, you’d think I would have christened that baby today, wouldn’t you?

Well, let me dispel that illusion. In spite of my best intentions…there’s always tomorrow.

(T-1044)

Photo by L. Weikel

Neglected Journal-keeping – Day Twenty Eight

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Journal-keeping

I have to admit it; I’m a teensy bit stoked that I’ve made it a full lunar month of consistently writing Ruffled Feathers entries.

There has been some fallout in other areas, however, which I’m going to need to rectify, such as my regular journal-keeping. Yeah, my spiral notebook is feeling neglected. I noticed about a week ago that I’d permitted a terrible lapse in entries. A full fourteen days, if I’m not mistaken, which for me is nearly unforgivable.

Do I Have to Choose?

The only reason I didn’t lapse into a round of merciless self-flagellation was because I knew that, on some level, I’d made a choice. And for now at least, if I honestly felt I needed to make a choice, then opting for my 1111 Devotion was the way to go.

Yet as soon as I realized that I was sacrificing one form of writing for another, I knew that could not stand. Keeping a journal has been my way of snatching sanity from the undertow of overwhelm and sadness all my life. Keeping a journal has been integral to maintaining my marriage. Keeping a journal has led me to personal insights that I’m confident I never would have made otherwise, and therefore keeping a journal has been integral to creating the person I am today.

So no, sacrificing my journal writing to fulfill my commitment – my devotion – to honoring Karl’s life is not a practice I will permit. I’m not saying that I must write in my journal every day. But I am saying that a two week lapse is not part of the plan.

My reasoning is two-fold. First, I have kept some form of a journal in earnest since I was in 7thor 8thgrade. I cannot say that I’ve seen those earliest confessionals since becoming an adult, but I do recall writing out my feelings back when I was in 8thgrade, and perhaps even younger.

A Breach of Trust

And sadly, round about the age of 16 or so, I also recall discovering that my mother had done the unthinkable and read something I’d written without asking. (I’m thinking this may be why I haven’t discovered those early attempts at keeping a ‘diary.’ Although I do not remember reacting in an incendiary manner to her breach – by literally lighting them on fire or even being tempted to chuck them – I do find it odd that I can’t put my hands on them. And my visceral reaction to even the thought of burning or otherwise disposing of a journal leads me to believe I would never have taken such a drastic step.)

That’s not to say that I wasn’t incensed with my mother’s breach. Oh my. I was. But I also know we hashed it out. Honestly, tearfully, and not just a little angrily. Which is why I feel slightly bad about dredging this up now, because I know I forgave her. But forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. And I’m not dredging this up to make her feel bad (since she’s been gone from this realm since 1991), but rather to explain that the deepest source of my outrage at her betrayal was because she’d had my trust. I told her almost everything (much to her chagrin many times). And I didn’t lie. But that’s not to say I told her every single lustful little thought that entered my mind as an adolescent (ew). And those thoughts were precisely the types of things she discovered when she read my ‘diary’ that I took absolute umbrage over her violating my privacy.

I’ve spent much longer on that fracas with my mother than I intended. And yet I’m not quite finished.

It feels important to express why I continued keeping journals even after my mother’s breach. Indeed, they became more and more of a lifeline for me when I turned 17 and became an exchange student in Sweden.

And that’s because I forgave her. And I forgave her because we listened to each other.

Forgiveness – Healing for Both the Forgiver and the Forgiven

I remember having it out together in my parents’ bedroom, when I confronted her after she asked me a question that I immediately saw she already knew the answer to. I was, as I’ve said, incensed. She’d been worried. Or something. I can’t even remember, other than to recall that she admitted that she was wrong to have read it. She admitted that she knew she was wrong because we did have such a close bond, and I did tell her so much about my life. I could see it written all over her face that she sincerely regretted it. And on some level, I understood that she’d almost been offered too tempting a target. “Did she really know me?” “Could she really trust me?” All she needed to do was read what I wrote…

Things were way different culturally when I was 16 than when my sisters and brother were 16, my closest sister in age being 9 years older and the eldest being 19 years older than me. So, yeah. I understood that she wasn’t sure if she knew me. And she understood my outrage.

After our (heated) discussion, I trusted she’d never do that to me again. And I know that trust was well-placed.

I’ll get to my second point tomorrow.

I promise.

(T-1083)