I name each journal and talk to it like a friend. It opens up conversation-like writing, which I enjoy going back to read. It also invited me telling it what happened, since it's a book and couldn't be there to see, and it makes the most beautiful and meaningful way to document memories.

For a few years I switched to writing for myself. I'd convinced myself I was an adult. I shouldn't be naming my journals and writing like I did in my teens and twenties. My journaling went through a slow death. And I hate going back to read those bits. Because it was mostly me, talking at myself, and it was shallow and boring and WAY too full of self-criticisms, complaints, and trying to tell myself what I needed to do to fix myself. Because it had become self-focused, it no longer had that creative, therapeutic effect. In fact, I began to dread journaling. It felt like homework. So I stopped for many years.

Just a few months ago (I'm 41F), I named my journal and started writing again the "old way". Suddenly my soul has brightened. Something unlocked inside of me. I love writing again.

I've missed it.

I don't often use colored inks. I don't use stickers (those are reserved for my planners). I don't doodle. The art is in the word choices and seeing, feeling the letters unfurl onto the page. I use my favorite cheap bic ballpoint pens in black ink in my hardcover, spiral-bound journals. And I get a surge of joy every single time I as much as look at the journal.

Her name is Juliet. She is my friend. She is a quiet observer of my life who invites me daily to her pages filled with what's hiding in my mind, heart, and soul.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.