why do we only write when we're sad

spoiler alert, she's writing about writing again

red pens get a bad rep — but before they picked out mistakes on essays, they were the tone i gravitated to every time i was upset. in third grade, red pens were how i expressed frustration at a best friend picking the Popular Girls over me. in sixth grade, i complained about my parents and homework in thicker markers, still maroon. enter high school and red pens became how i spoke to body image issues, growing pains with friends. they helped me process a lack of boys, and then a presence that made me wish there was a lack of them.

simply put, my journals growing up used to be filled with red ink because i was in the habit of only writing in them when i felt sad, or overwhelmed. part of me is so thankful that i felt extremely strongly about writing through my emotions.

and then another part of me wonders why we only write when we’re sad. it’s a question i’ve clearly thought about for years, but without much success.

but really, why do we?

i think it’s because words string together easier when you’re in tears because they know that you need a place to sit. and think. and run. sentences only roll off onto the page when there’s no more room in your mind. and it’s easier to paragraph dissect the things that hurt us - versus the things that give us joy - because, well, who doesn’t love a good villain story?

it’s a habit that you’ve either been building or not. without the crazy suburban drama and college dynamics, my journals have felt pretty empty since i moved to san francisco. it’s like my dream of a boyfriend, life of a friend group and solid foundation all serve as muses, but ones that get me to sit and chat - not run away and write.

this is an idea i’ve been thinking about for years — even on this very blog! from 2019:

thanks to an early start via princess diary, journaling is true (scary) mindfulness for me. and right now, i’m not in the mood to be mindful. i’m emotionally tired and heart has gone from hanging ever so slightly on my sleeve to concealed until further notice. diving deep seems like playing with fire.

i ended that essay by saying that i was worried that i’d look back on my journals one day and think that i spent my entire teenage years (and 20s) sad and confused. that’s still true - even though i’m less worried about getting a reality check from my journal, and more worried about just not feeling like i have extra words to spare at the end of the day.

anyways, i guess i haven’t changed much since 2019 because i’m trying to get back into journaling again. i’m not giving myself the pressure of trying to romanticize everything and write it down in sonnet form, but instead i’m just trying to have a discussion with myself - as one of my online friends put it. that framing helped because real conversations tend to meander, distract and end up somewhere completely different than where they started.

i’m not it’s about the little things-ing you, although i do that quite often, i’m just trying to journal in a more…human way. humans don’t always try to process the big thing. sometimes they just laugh at a silly moment they witnessed at a coffee shop and that’s worth writing about, too!

i’m about one week in and it’s finally starting to feel a little easier. i have nothing against red pens, yes, but at the same time, i did dramatically buy a fancy green pen. because, well, growth.