I Tried Journaling for Self-Discovery and Mostly Discovered I'm Always Hungry

You know what sounds profound? Journaling.

All the self-help experts, therapists, and well-lit Instagram influencers say it’s the secret to inner peace. Just write down your thoughts, they said. Your dreams, your feelings, your truth.

Apparently, if you keep a journal long enough, you’ll transform into a glowing, emotionally evolved human who drinks lemon water and wakes up with clear skin and deep insight.

So naturally, I bought a notebook. And five fancy pens. And a sticker that said “You’ve Got This” — because if anything says “personal growth,” it’s pastel stationery with motivational fonts.

I was ready to discover myself.

Spoiler: I discovered that I’m dramatic, I avoid feelings, and I think about food constantly.

Day 1: The Overachiever Awakens

I sat down with all the energy of a motivational speaker at a vision board party.

I lit a candle. Played soft music. Opened the first crisp page of my new journal and wrote, in beautiful cursive:

“Dear Me,

I’m ready to begin this journey of radical self-reflection and growth.”

Then I stared at the page for ten solid minutes, because I had no idea what to write next.

So I did what any normal person would do: I wrote a list titled “Things I Would Eat Right Now If I Had Unlimited Snacks.”

Item #1: Nachos.

Item #2: Ice cream with nachos??? (note: investigate this)

Item #3: A really good sandwich with a dramatic amount of cheese

I closed the journal and whispered, “That’s enough growth for today.”

Day 2: Feelings?? Ew.

I decided to go deeper.

This time, I opened the journal and bravely wrote, “What am I feeling right now?”

My brain replied:

“Tired.”

“Anxious.”

“Worried about how much peanut butter I’ve eaten this week.”

Then I panicked and doodled a stick figure crying next to a pizza.

I tried again.

This time I wrote a letter to my “past self,” but accidentally made it super passive-aggressive:

“Dear 2016 Me,

Why did you think bangs were a good idea? Also, maybe stop texting people who don’t deserve responses. Love, Growth.”

Honestly, it felt cathartic. Also mildly petty. I gave myself a gold star sticker for being honest and moved on.

Day 3: The Great Existential Spiral

I attempted a “morning gratitude log” like all the journaling blogs suggest.

I wrote:

“I’m grateful for coffee.”

“I’m grateful for sweatpants.”

“I’m grateful that no one expects me to jog.”

Then, like a fool, I asked myself, “What do I want from life?”

Suddenly, I was 30 minutes deep into an identity crisis, writing things like:

“Do I actually like my job or am I just good at it?”

“Would I be happier living in the woods with goats?”

“What is success really?”

I had no answers. I had only chaos and half a bagel.

I closed the journal dramatically and declared, “That’s enough soul-searching for a Tuesday.”

Day 4: The Journal Judges Me

By now, my journal had become a slightly passive-aggressive best friend. It held all my random thoughts, abandoned goals, and to-do lists that I never finished.

I wrote:

“Today I will accomplish: 1. Go for a walk. 2. Respond to emails. 3. Eat a vegetable.”

Then I crossed out #1, moved #2 to tomorrow, and added “nap aggressively” as #3.

I also tried writing affirmations like:

“I am calm and capable.”

“I attract positive energy.”

But I immediately followed them with:

“I am also slightly bloated and craving waffles.”

Because balance.

Day 5: The Notebook of Many Personalities

By this point, my journal wasn’t just a journal. It was:

A to-do list I never respected

A secret diary with chaotic emotional energy

A food tracker that turned into a snack fantasy log

A place where I vented about my barista getting my name wrong ("Kirsty"? Seriously??)

Each page had a different vibe:

One was a motivational pep talk

One looked like a poetry slam breakdown

One was just “I’m tired” written seven times in different sizes

I wasn’t growing into a peaceful, mindful being.

I was becoming my own weird little sitcom.

The Unexpected Magic of Journaling Badly

But here’s the thing — something kind of cool happened.

Even though I wasn’t consistent or poetic or wise, my journal became a space that belonged entirely to me.

There were no rules. No grades. No audience. Just me, my feelings, and an unreasonable number of cheese references.

Some days I wrote deep things.

Some days I just drew stick figures riding flamingos.

Both were valid.

Also, it helped. Not in a life-changing, enlightenment-level way — but in a “Wow, I didn’t realize I was holding onto that until I scribbled it in all caps” kind of way.

What I Learned from Journaling Like a Slightly Unhinged Gremlin

There’s no right way to journal.

If your “gratitude list” turns into a rant about why soup is annoying, so be it.

Self-reflection is awkward sometimes.

You’ll cringe. You’ll ramble. You might even draw a pie chart labeled “Reasons I’m Avoiding Real Work.” Still counts.

Progress isn’t always poetic.

Sometimes growth looks like “I didn’t yell at that one person today.” That’s a win.

You are allowed to be both wise and ridiculous.

You can write, “I am worthy of love,” and also, “Is it normal to eat pickles at midnight?” in the same entry.

Your journal is a mirror — but also a friend.

One that listens, never judges, and always makes room for a little chaos.

Would I Keep Journaling?

Absolutely. Not every day. Not even every week.

But I’ll keep showing up on paper when I need to. Because even if my entries are half nonsense and 70% snack-related, they’re mine.

And honestly, writing it all out feels kind of amazing — even when it makes zero sense and ends with me drawing a cartoon taco giving life advice.