JOURNALLING
Atherton Drenth
05 January 2020
For years my mother had tried to encourage me to journal. I resisted her at every single step. She was tired of my nightly phone calls as I struggled to find balance and purpose in my life. Getting married and becoming a stay-at-home-mom was way more than I had ever anticipated. Every day was emotional agony as I struggled to find my bearings. Every time she brought it up I would angrily refuse. The thought of writing down my emotional turmoil at the end of every day was, quite frankly, more than I could bear.
I can, however, pinpoint exactly when I changed my mind. I had endured the week from hell looking after two sick babies all by myself. There was no relief or support from anyone to be had. My husband had already been out of town on business for a few weeks. Coming home was not an option and we both knew it. I had gone days without more than a few hours sleep at best. When he finally returned and walked in the door I remember handing over our two diapered babies, fevered and covered in snot. The house was a mess. Without saying a word, I walked out the door. I knew I was on the verge of losing my mind or having a breakdown. He said nothing. We both knew that my eyes said it all.
I got in the car and drove to the grocery store of all places. It was really the only place still open that late on a Friday night. I grabbed a cart and wandered the aisles. Sick of heart, exhausted, burned out and so very lost. I was loathed to cry in public. Walking around the store helped me keep my emotions in check, thank goodness. When I got to the aisle where they sold greeting cards and other assorted office supplies my eyes fell upon a spiral bound book, the kind you would use in school to take notes. I stood there, staring at its red cardboard cover, tears burning in my eyes and said, “Fine, I will do the journal, Mom!!!” I ripped it off the shelf and slammed into the cart.
It was the only thing I bought. I went out to the car and started to write. It saved me.
My mother was relieved to say the least, when I told her. She told me it would be cheap therapy. “At least, now you can whine in private,” she said, laughing. Mother was always blunt. No pretense there with her.
She was right, of course. Journaling gave me a voice that was private, personal, raw and uncensored. I could say what I needed to say to get things off my chest. I didn’t have to worry about offending anyone or jeopardizing my marriage or suffer regrets. My conscience could be laid bear without shame or malice. The journal became my safe place. It helped me emotionally and spiritually.
Over the years I saw how my writings exposed the struggle of my ego, my inner child, and my inner critical adult. With each entry my intuition started to find its voice. It started to break through with more consistency. I could begin to hear and understand it away from my journal in everyday encounters. Its voice reconnected me to my soul, my faith, my connection to the divine.
Now forty years later I can look back at the bigger picture with amusement. All that emotional detritus (whining) found a safe place to grow up. My journals became the concrete witness of how my life, was like one great big birthing process.
If you would like to discover how journaling can help you learn how to listen, understand and nurture your intuitive abilities I am offering a one-day course on Saturday, April 4th. Please contact my office to register.
Atherton Drenth is a clairvoyant medical intuitive and the author of Intuitive Dance. Building, Protecting & Clearing Your Energy, (Llewellyn Worldwide) and Following Body Wisdom. Atherton also appears in the documentary, Voyage to Betterment as one of 12 experts along with other internationally renowned physicians, researchers, and pioneers in the fields of consciousness research and spirituality.