Everyone should have a diary.

I've had a diary on and off for about 6 years now. It's something that the typical associations of being for young girls—think of 'dear diary today I'.

But I genuinely think it has been one of the best practices of my adult life. I started on my first day at university. My first couple of diaries were more like a journal rather than a real collection of my thoughts. They detailed my day-to-day routine, what time I woke up, what I did during the day, and when I fell asleep. The usefulness of this was limited, but it did get me started on the habit, which I will be forever grateful for. I think without those initial diary entries, I certainly would not have started writing in length.

A diary is a place for every person to be real with themselves; the act of sitting down to write a personal reflection helps solidify your thoughts. I find the habit soothing and it also aligns with my love of fountain pens.

Someone once told me they could never have a diary as there were too many thoughts going on in their brain. But for me, that is the point. Before I write, I find my mind wandering all over the place, flitting from topic to topic. Yet after writing everything clarify’s; like fog lifting from my brain.

The act of sitting down and documenting my thoughts, no matter if it is 2pm or 2am, helps put my mind at rest.

It also has the beauty of memorialising events in my life. I now have a record of how I felt on my first night at university, the first day of lockdown, and the day I got my job. The list goes on and on; birthdays, funerals, events with friends, romantic encounters, stressful moments, blissful ones. All immortalised on paper for me to view how I felt 5, 10, 15, 20 years in the future.

My Dad often talks about the value of a 'life book' that recalls major moments in his life. Whilst a diary is harder to parse as each diary entry seems rather a mundane recollection of everyday events, when viewed in its totality, each book gives me a snapshot of my life.

When someone asks, "Oh, when did this happen?" I can often turn to the specific date and have a more full recollection of the event and my thoughts at the time. This allows me to actually recollect my life without the distorting effect of time.

I've made it a habit to never tell people what I have written in my diary—bar once—as I have found that the moment you let others know what you have written, even if it's not about them, the act becomes performative. You spend your time writing as if there is an audience. You lose the authenticity to yourself. When in reality, your diary should be the one point in your day where you can be painfully truthful. The diary allows you to confide your deepest feelings without fear of others judging; there is no chance of people 'cancelling' you for your thoughts.

I also in part credit diary-keeping to my maturity. It allows me to revisit my thoughts after my emotions have cooled and more objectively think about my life. This has certainly helped me mature in my thinking.

This act of public writing also has that effect on steroids—I can certainly see myself in 5-10 years looking back on, say, this specific article reading my thoughts and correlating that with my diary. The value of my diary writing —for what is actually not that time-consuming of a habit (especially relative to writing these articles)— is beyond measure.

I'm not a particularly anxious person; I don't have a tendency to ruminate on things and I am lucky to live a great life.

Yet, part of being human is that there is always something on your mind. Whether that be work, health, romance, or life purpose, everyone has some level of angst about something.

Sitting down every day for me and just writing for 10 minutes with no music, no distractions, nothing but my thoughts—and often a stupidly expensive pen— has a clarifying effect that I have never found in anything else.

It is a habit I would recommend to everyone. You do not have to start big; some people like to do it digitally. You, of course, do not have to worry about the actual words—my diary is littered with spelling mistakes and incomplete sentences. The act of just getting it out is far more important.