journaling over coffee

a 90-day practice that became a daily ritual

Journaling isn’t a practice I’ve had since childhood. While I’ve always written, whether random stories as a kid, reflections, or blog posts later on, intentional journaling only became part of my life in my mid-twenties. Consistency was never a thing. I’d pick it up here and there, then abandon it for weeks, sometimes months. I even lost a couple of journals along the way. When I returned, guilt greeted me first, as if I’d failed at it. There are so many old entries I started with something like “It’s been a while…”, because I felt the need to catch up. Still, I always admired those who did it daily, who found quiet power in returning to the page. I wanted that. I just didn’t know how to get there yet.

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The benefits of journaling are no secret. It helps regulate emotions, reduce anxiety, and manage stress. Putting thoughts to paper clarifies them, helping clear your mental clutter. Writing things down reinforces memory and improves learning. You become more attuned to your patterns, values, and inner dialogues. Improved mental health, increased self-awareness, all of that sounds great.

But then, why don’t we stick with it?

Journaling, especially on a daily basis, can feel daunting. There is often pressure to do it right. Sometimes this comes from perfectionism. Other times, we feel discouraged because there isn’t an immediate reward and no instant payoff after just one entry. In the digital age, things that don’t give us a dopamine kick right away can feel unnecessary.

When we set unrealistic expectations, journaling becomes a chore. If life gets even slightly busy, it’s the first thing we drop, because we tell ourselves we don’t really need it, right? Who has the time to journal daily nowadays? To fully slow down, to be honest, and sit with their thoughts? It can feel uncomfortable. In a distraction-heavy and fast-paced world, journaling seems more like a luxury than a necessity.

Finally, it’s a solo practice. There’s no accountability partner like you’d have when going to the gym. No deadline like a paper to submit. No audience. No likes. No one is waiting to read what you wrote. It’s not a performative act. The only audience is you. Because the payoff is subtle, it’s easier to quit when motivation dips, even though we know this quiet practice can bring lasting benefits.

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why i wanted to start daily journaling (again)

In March, I wrote about why I decided to step off the hamster wheel and quit job hunting (for now). Over the following months, I felt a sense of ease return. I didn’t spend my weekends tailoring my résumé and cover letters to jobs I wasn’t even sure I wanted. It felt like I could breathe again and spend time on things that truly mattered to me.

Then, at the end of April, I stumbled upon a job ad that felt like it was written for me. The pause from applying had done me good; it gave me clarity to rethink my goals and approach. I took my time with the application, did a full rebrand of my CV, and really thought deeply about my cover letter. I sent it off and then didn’t hear anything for weeks.

Suddenly, in mid-May, I had to complete a written task and an interview. Given how passionate I was about the role and the company, I wanted to give it my full attention. But juggling a job, life, Substack, YouTube, and the application process was a lot, so I turned to daily journaling as an anchor.

Consistency, for me, requires a bit of structure. Not a strict routine, but something I can return to. Routines can feel like chores. Rituals, on the other hand, are invitations. Moments you look forward to. I love pairing my journaling practice with my coffee. It doesn’t happen at the exact same time every day, although it’s usually in the morning. The timing shifts depending on whether I’m working or not, but the setting stays the same.

Once I’ve finished breakfast, I take my mug to the coffee table, sit on a floor cushion, and pick up my journal. Pen in one hand, coffee in the other. It helps me feel grounded and present. I’d write about the job: what I liked about it, how I could stay on top of things, and how to make sure I was doing okay without feeling too overwhelmed. Things felt lighter, a little more in order.

Unfortunately, after the task and three interviews, I didn’t get the job. And while I was disappointed (not in myself, because I knew I’d done everything I could), I still gained something from the experience. Not just a snazzy new résumé that truly resembles me, but something even more valuable. It led me to build a ritual I now look forward to every morning. Because, yes, my little journal had been holding my hand for about twenty days by then, and I wasn’t ready to let it go. So I kept showing up.

Until I broke the pattern.

I had written consistently in my journal for a month before travelling to Stockholm. Instead of taking it with me, I brought along another notebook to write about our days and collect ephemera to later transfer into my travel journal once I returned from the trip. I wrote about everything we did and how it made me feel, but this felt different. It was more matter of fact. Thoughts were quickly jotted down each night before I fell asleep, thanks to the 25,000 steps we walked every day. I didn’t sit purposefully with my journal or write intentionally. The ritual I had cherished so much those past weeks was broken. So when my next trip came around in July, I made sure to carry my journal with me. I found pockets of time, not necessarily in the morning or on a floor cushion, but still with a coffee or matcha in hand, to recreate my grounding ritual on the go.

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what does my journal look like?

It isn’t perfect. I use different pens. My handwriting is inconsistent. Sometimes it’s very rounded, sometimes very straight, sometimes barely legible, more like scribbles than words. If someone picked up my journal, they’d think it was a shared object. I cross things out, use arrows to link thoughts together, and circle things to make them stand out. I write in the margins when I’m reaching the last line and have one more thought to share, but don’t want to start a new page just for one line. It’s messy, very lived-in, and that’s exactly what I like about it.

I don’t edit my life in my journal. It’s not an Instagram feed but a shamble of raw thoughts where correct grammar and spelling go out of the window.

what do i write about?

For a while, I only journaled when I needed to pour my heart out and relieve myself of stress, sadness, or anger. Writing about those feelings is cathartic and helps me process things better. But isn’t it a bit sad to write only when things are hard? I believe it’s important to find balance and also write about the positive. I have found that negative thoughts leave my head as soon as they hit the paper, while positive ones anchor deeper in my memory. Writing about the positive can make me relive those moments. I look at them fondly from a distance that still feels close.

Sometimes the words do not come right away. I need to let myself think and allow the thoughts to find their way to me. So, I look around. What am I seeing? Where am I? How am I feeling? I love observing the world and describing it. From time to time, I write about the coffee I am drinking. I have been trying beans from different roasters and cafés, and some brews taste different from one day to the next, so I make notes about them. I also write random thoughts and reflections that suddenly come to mind. That is the beauty of journaling; it does not need to follow any rules. It can hold anything you want.

My journal is also full of Substack drafts, from main thoughts and items to include to numbers next to paragraphs that help me reorder my ideas. Sometimes the concept is there, and I just have to develop it. Other times, an entry turns into an article as I get carried away, fleshing it out on paper before moving it to digital.

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what i learned from daily journaling

The length of your writing doesn’t matter. Like many creatives, I’m curious about Julia Cameron’s book, The Artist’s Way. You’ve probably heard of the famous three morning pages she recommends. While I won’t deny their potential benefit, three pages can feel daunting. In my journal, some entries are just one sentence long. Other times, I write until my hand aches and go well beyond three pages. It’s not about quantity, or even quality. The goal is simply to show up for myself.

The depth of your writing doesn’t matter. I alluded to this already. Journaling isn’t about quality. It’s a daily meeting between me and myself. No one else will read it. It won’t be published without massive editing. It isn’t a performance, and it can be messy, full of crossed-out words. No grammar police, no pressure to be profound. Unfinished and fragmented thoughts are still valuable. Sometimes the entry is deep. Sometimes, a bit shallow. Like when I write about how the corn soup I made was so yummy.

Turning journaling into a ritual you look forward to. I like to take my time in the morning. I prepare breakfast, usually Greek yoghurt with homemade granola and whatever fruit is in season (flat peaches and nectarines right now, which make me the happiest). Then I shower and get ready for the day. When I return to the kitchen, I prepare my coffee. While it brews, I sit at the table and slowly eat my yoghurt bowl. This allows the coffee to settle gently. I usually take a couple of sips while eating, but don’t finish it. Then I take my mug to the coffee table and sit on a floor cushion. I pick up my journal, which is strategically placed on the table, open it, take a sip, and start writing.

Making it easy by keeping your journal visible. We all know the saying “out of sight, out of mind.” This is especially true for your journal. Where do you like to journal? Like me, in the morning at your coffee table? Keep it there with a pen. In the evening, tucked in bed? Keep it on your nightstand.

Putting pen to paper to overcome the blank page. I don’t always wake up with something to write about in my mind, which is why I give myself time to wake up, get ready, and potter around before sitting down to write. This lets my mind start and perhaps find its way naturally to the pages. But sometimes I simply draw a blank. While I could turn to prompts in this situation, just the simple act of writing “I don’t know what to write about…” can spark something. I just need to get started, a little push. That initial scratch on paper often works its magic. And if nothing comes, so be it. I’ll write that down and trust that the next day I might have a little more to say.

Skipping a day or two won’t kill your groove. Daily journaling has helped me feel more present and grounded, both within myself and with others. I notice the world around me a little more because my mind is quieter. I can feel my anxiety and stress soften. Overall, life feels lighter. But some days, nothing works. I can’t find the right outfit, I burn my toast, I have one minute to brush my teeth, put on my shoes, and make sure I didn’t leave the hair straighteners on. On those days, my journal stays quietly untouched in its little spot on the coffee table. Life happens, and I don’t hate myself if I skip a day or two. Nothing is perfect, certainly not a journal. But during the day, I often realise I miss my precious ritual, and I try my best to return to it the next morning.

Finding what works for you. I’ve long debated between keeping my writing in separate notebooks or having a catch-all journal. I started 2025 with the latter. I wrote my thoughts sporadically, took notes on my readings, collected quotes, and drafted articles all in one place. It felt easy and convenient. But when I wanted to revisit certain entries, like checking my monthly TBR, things got messy. So when I filled the last page in June, I decided to give each type of writing its own notebook. It instantly felt lighter and more organised. I can leave my journal in the same spot every day, meet it there, and get writing. It’s no longer lost in some odd place I last used it. Now, it’s there to welcome me every day. And when I head out, I can simply take what I need without carrying a brick of paper.

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That’s how I turned daily journaling into a grounding ritual that feels both intentional and nourishing.

At first, it felt a bit structured, but never like a mere tick-box exercise. Every morning, I look forward to it. I find comfort not only in journaling but also in the ritual itself. The pure silence, broken only by the wind rustling and birds cooing. I’m grounded as I sit on the floor. I look around. Sip my coffee. Open my journal and allow the pen to guide my thoughts. It’s not about being profound; it’s about showing up, being present.

Your version of this ritual might look different, and that’s the beauty of it. There’s no right way to meet yourself on the page, only your way.

Do you journal regularly, or wish to? What might your daily ritual look like?

Let me know if you’d be interested in an article about my journal ecosystem and how I use each notebook.

Until next time,

Amandine

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