A Skeptic’s Journey – My First 100 Pages of Journaling

Here’s the thing – I have anxiety and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and more often than I like to admit, these two mix together and create a nice little cocktail called depression (starting today’s post off on a fun note here). Over the years, I’ve found myself looking up different approaches to dealing with these which has always led me to some variety of “self care”.

Now, for me, I’ve always taken self care tips with a grain of salt. Especially as “self care” has become more of a mainstream activity, and it seems as though people are using it almost as an excuse for any behaviours outside of their normal. Which to be fair could stem from me having used it to justify eating too many red velvet cupcakes, and also the six step skin care routine I dropped several hundred dollars on at Sephora last year. Did either of these things better my mental health? Definitely not. Could they for others – maybe.

Self care is incredibly important to me – despite what you are probably thinking after that last paragraph – when done in the true essence of self care. This being to set time aside to sit with yourself, process your emotions and thoughts, and spending time doing things that serve you. For me this means meditating twice a day and filling in my eyebrows, but for others it can mean a wide gamut of things – bubble baths, shaving your legs, watching a marathon on Netflix while drinking a bottle of rosé, what have you. Debatably, the most common form of self care out there (if we’re going off Pinterest tips here) is journaling. Which you’d think I’d be all over, considering the fact that I blog now, and it is practically the exact definition of what I said self care is at the top of this paragraph. But, no. I’ve always thought journaling was a crock of shit.

That was, of course, until I bought a journal a couple months ago.

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