A while back, one of my best friends confessed that over the years I’ve become his inspiration and he hopes to arrive where I am now (mentally) one day. An older friend of mine once told me it fascinates him how well developed my radar for bullshitting seems to be. My flatmate thinks I got my shit together and my then-friend now-partner willingly admits that what drew him in was how sure of my own decisions and opinions I seemed to be. And even though being complemented like this still makes me rather uncomfortable, a part of me nods in agreement: yes, knowing yourself may be tough as fuck at times, but it does pay off.
It all boils down to self-awareness.
I was practicing the subtle art of self-awareness long before I became familiar with its actual definition: through my personal writing.
Most of people try writing at some point in their lives. Keeping a diary is especially popular in teenage years, which provokes the notion of it being a daft and immature activity. I couldn’t disagree more. Sure, when I started writing mine at 13, it indeed was silly and, looking back, quite embarrassing (not that there is anything else to be expected of a teenager). But as I kept going, it became way more serious and worthwhile. Ten years in and I could say with confidence that I’m my most honest self on paper. Not that this is such a good thing, since I’m struggling to communicate with people face-to-face. If I could, I would communicate all the important things exclusively in letters, but as it was once pointed out to me: I cannot have the whole conversations that way. Fair enough, I’m learning my lesson.
But personal writing has always played an important part in my life and I doubt that could ever change. I would not be the person I am today if it wasn’t for meticulously chronicling my inner life. It’s such an integral part of me that I genuinely cannot imagine myself without it.
I’ve always liked putting things on paper, writing stuff down. It stayed my most effective way of learning, organising and processing any kind of information.
I started documenting my life in Polish, but half way through 2012, craving to get better — or at least more fluent — in writing in English, I switched to journaling every single day in English (on a computer). And I’ve been doing it scrupulously, without a break, for over three years. On days I didn’t have much to say (which were surprisingly rare), I would force myself to describe anything that would come to my mind, just to keep up a habit.
Around the same time I started struggling: I didn’t want to give up my handwritten Polish diary, but writing the same thing in two languages alongside each other quickly turned out to be infeasible. As they say in Poland, “need breeds creativity”, so I came up with a system: I write in English as I go (whenever and wherever since I can use my phone for this) and then, once a month, I sit down, read through the previous month’s scribbles, make notes and summarise the most important points in Polish handwriting. It may sound bonkers to most, but I consider it a therapy session: I’m keeping myself in check, monitoring my own progress. And it works wonders for me. When I got that system up and running, my self-awareness levels distinctly spiked up. Which consequently improved the quality of my everyday life.
Around 2017 I had my first (and hopefully last) break from personal writing, which made me realise that the harder it gets to write, the more needed it actually is (I wrote about it here). I don’t want to ever give it up again: it’s too much like breathing to me.
Personal writing gives me an instant relief: it tames my hectic mind. It helps me understand, name and process: my emotions, myself and the world around me. It gives everything I do this extra depth and meaning which makes life worth living. It gives me self-knowledge I can’t imagine acquiring in any other way.
And because it gives me knowledge, it also provides me with power. By writing things down, I give them some physical form, which creates a strong illusion of control over my life. Whenever something bad or difficult happens in my life, writing is always there, waiting to restore me. Quite literally: it’s my go-to remedy, my way of finding myself again, reminding myself what I believe in, what I stand and strive for. Since I’ve been doing it for over 17 years, it’s an excellent measure of my progress. It reminds me how strong I can actually be and how far I’ve already come — in comparison to no one else but my past self.
Writing genuinely keeps me going.
This is my key and this is my secret.
Of course, self-awareness is often misread as rudeness, selfishness or arrogance. It frequently intimidates others and creates loads of problems on its own. But in the end, it’s always worth it. At least in my personal experience.
I once made a choice: I decided I want to live my life deeply and consciously. Now I’m taking responsibility for that decision. With a head held high.
