"I write incessantly in my journal. It is easier for me to write my truth than to speak it. I like to imagine that I'm working toward writing a memoir concerning something no one really knows about (so, a confession, an offering of truth). My worry: Am I really a writer, or is this consuming project just my form of therapy, a desire to show my real self and beg for acceptance"
"I like to imagine that I'm working toward writing a memoir concerning something no one really knows about (so, a confession, an offering of truth). My worry: Am I really a writer, or is this consuming project just my form of therapy, a desire to show my real self and beg for acceptance and love? If that's what it is, does it deserve to be read by others? It feels awfully self-serving."
A person journals incessantly because expressing truth on paper feels easier than speaking it aloud. The person imagines the journals becoming a memoir about a hidden truth, framed as a confession or offering of truth. Concern centers on whether the journaling practice is a genuine creative pursuit or primarily a form of therapy and a means of seeking acceptance and love. The person wonders whether such intimate material deserves to be read by others and worries that sharing it may feel self-serving. Gratitude is offered for any attempt to help clarify the dilemma.
Read at The New Yorker
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