I've always been a person who keeps journals. Whether it’s a dream journal, a manifestation journal, a sex diary, or even my various grimoires and Book of Shadows—they are all, in their own unique way, records of a journey.
However, shortly before my 52nd birthday, I felt a pull toward something new. I decided to keep a diary, but not one to chronicle the daily minutia of my life—not who I met, what I ate, or what I did. Instead, I wanted a dedicated space to go deep, to explore who I am at my core, and to work out the real issues in my life.
As of this writing, I’m just shy of my first 30 days, and the process has already been incredibly illuminating. I wanted to share a recent entry with you to give you a glimpse into this new practice.
The Sunday Ritual and a Sense of Lack
For several months now, I've had a Sunday ritual. I get up very early, pick up my friend, and we make a conscious decision to leave town, if only for a few hours, to escape our mundane, everyday reality. We have breakfast, sometimes joined by other friends, and then we go shopping or find a place in nature—a beach or the top of a mountain. We find that nature is powerfully renewing; it refreshes our spirit for the week ahead. Eventually, we head home, our everyday reality setting back in as we return to our lives.
This past Sunday, after dropping my friend off, I noticed I felt ambiguous. On one hand, I was happy to have connected with my friends, but I also felt a distinct sense of lack.
I knew I needed to address it. When I arrived home, before turning on the TV or even opening the windows, I went straight to my altar. I sat down, took a deep breath, and cleared my mind. Then, I asked myself, Why am I experiencing this sense of lack?
The first thought that surfaced was, “It would have been nice to have shared this day with a man.” It was a thought I couldn't shake. I knew immediately this was a thread I had to pull, a subject I needed to explore in my diary.
The Morning After: Finding a Lens
Let me pause to explain my process: I always write my diary entry for any particular day on the following day. So, I didn't write about Sunday until Monday. I sat down at my desk and began with the basics: I wrote the date, noted the day of the week, and the weather. Since I always post a Card of the Day on my Instagram, I also noted the card in my journal.
As I sat there, staring at the page and gathering my thoughts, I felt a little stuck. I wasn't sure how I wanted to approach the complicated feelings I experienced on Sunday. Then, I had an epiphany. I decided to express myself through the lens of the Hanged Man, which was the Card of the Day for Sunday. I started by simply contemplating its meaning: pause, suspension, a new perspective, yielding to a higher power, inversion...
And then, the words began to flow out of me.
"I am choosing this suspension; it is not a punishment. From this perspective, I see an exhausting loop: running between "find the fixer" and "accept defeat" The biggest lie is that I am broken, that my life is incomplete and that I needed a man to fix me and make my life whole. The truth is my life is unattended. The action I've been resisting is self-authorship. The real energy drain is not my job, not my responsibilities, not my age; its this constant internal argument of wanting to love and be loved and simply giving up and resigning myself to the single life forever.
For one week, I will sacrifice the idea of the fixer and surrender the pattern of vacillation. I will not search, worry, or resign. My perspective must invert. the solution is within me. I must become the fixer ---- the one who validates, the one who heals, the one who brings me joy. The pause ends when I look at my life and know, truly know, that it is beautiful and it is mine!"
What's so striking about this process is how those initial feelings of lack have transformed into a powerful affirmation of self-authorship. I went into this diary practice to confront my deepest issues, and in less than a month, I've already uncovered a core narrative—that I'm somehow broken or incomplete without a partner—and found the lens to shatter it. This new journal isn't just a record of my journey; it's the active tool I'm using to carve a new path. The Hanged Man may signify a pause, but for me, that suspension is just the breath I needed before making a fundamental shift. I'm stepping into this week with a commitment to become the source of my own fulfillment, ready to see where this inverted perspective—that the solution is within me—will lead.
Carolina Dean
Daily Diarist