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Ah yes, journaling—the ancient, mystical practice of baring your soul to a dead tree carcass, otherwise known as a notebook. But don’t be fooled by its apparent simplicity. No, no. Journaling is not just “writing your thoughts down.” That’s for amateurs and people with stable emotional bandwidth. Real journaling requires intention, ritual, at least three pens of different emotional colors, and a minor existential crisis.

First, you must choose your journal. Not just any notebook—heavens no. It must speak to your soul. It must have a cover that whispers, “I’m the one,” while also matching your aesthetic (vintage floral witch-core or post-industrial minimalism are acceptable). Then comes the pen—gel, ballpoint, or perhaps a quill if you really want to feel important while writing about how Susan at work microwaved fish again.

Next, prepare your space. Light candles, play ambient whale noises, and arrange at least seven throw pillows. This is sacred. You must be emotionally raw and also Instagrammably cozy. Now stare at the blank page. Panic. Question your entire life. Write the date in the top right corner in perfect calligraphy and then immediately ruin everything with a coffee stain and a disproportionate doodle of an anxious snail.

Now, begin unloading your psyche. But not just any thoughts—your journaling must include a cryptic mix of angst, metaphors, and vague references to “growth.” Something like, “The moon mocks me again tonight. I, too, am waning.” Excellent. Be sure to add five bullet points about your to-do list, two affirmations you don’t believe yet, and a reminder to drink more water, which you will ignore.

Advanced journaling may include color-coded emotions, graphs of your moods, or attaching a single mysterious pressed flower to signify “transformation.” No one will understand it. That’s how you know it’s working. If your journal doesn’t read like the fever dream of a Victorian poet with Wi-Fi, you’re simply doing it wrong.

Finally, close your journal with dramatic flair and a sense of superiority. You have documented your human experience with flair, confusion, and a mild sense of dread. Congratulations—you’re officially journaling. Or casting spells. Honestly, at this point, who can tell the difference?