
The Power of Journaling in Crisis
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Time to read 4 min
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Time to read 4 min
There are moments when the world feels like it’s caving in.
A diagnosis. A loss. A sudden change that tears through your sense of safety.
In these moments of crisis, it can feel like everything familiar is dissolving.
The plans. The certainties. The quiet sense of control you once held in your hands.
When life shakes, many of us are left asking:
Where do I go with this pain? How do I survive this?
One answer—ancient, tender, and surprisingly modern—is this:
pick up a pen.
Spiritual journalling during times of crisis is not about documenting the chaos.
It’s about finding a place to set it down.
It’s a sacred conversation with yourself and the Divine, a space where your pain is allowed to exist without being rushed into resolution.
Long before self-help books and digital wellness tools, Christian women mystics were writing their way through their spiritual anguish.
Mechthild of Magdeburg, a 13th-century Beguine, wrote of her soul’s deep longing for God in vivid, intimate prose. Her visions came not from certainty, but from wrestling with fear, loneliness, and the rawness of life. She journalled as a form of spiritual survival.
Her book The Flowing Light of the Godhead is filled with ecstatic language, but beneath the mysticism lies the ache of a soul longing to belong.
Marguerite Porete, a French mystic and fellow Beguine, dared to write of a soul that had let go of everything, even attachment to spiritual practices. In her controversial book, The Mirror of Simple Souls, she explores a divine union that only arises after complete surrender.
Her work was considered so radical that it was condemned and she was executed—
yet her writings endured. Why?
Because they speak to a truth many women recognise:
that surrender in suffering is not weakness, but sacred wisdom.
These women didn’t write from the mountaintop.
They wrote from the valley floor.
And it’s there—in the dark, unlit hours—that journalling becomes a form of prayer.
When you write in crisis, your words don’t have to be wise or well-formed.
They can be jagged. Angry. Broken.
They can contradict themselves. They can shout, question, plead.
The page will hold it all.
In this way, spiritual journalling mirrors lament, a tradition we see in Scripture—from Job’s sorrow to the Psalms of David. To journal is to cry out, to reach toward the Divine without needing to know what you’ll find.
But what you may find is this: a quiet inner strength that surprises you. A peace that doesn't erase the pain but sits with it.
A whisper that says, “You are not alone.”
For a deeper exploration of how journaling can aid in healing and self-reclamation, read The Sacred Power of Journaling: Why Women Are Turning to the Page to Heal, and Reclaim Themselves.
Even modern psychology supports this.
Studies show that expressive writing during times of trauma can reduce stress, clarify thought patterns, and bring a greater sense of emotional processing. It works not because it fixes anything— but because it allows us to feel seen, even by ourselves.
In many ways, this practice reconnects us to something ancient. Women throughout history have turned to writing as a form of spiritual resistance and survival. In convents, cloisters, and quiet corners, they wrote not for publication, but to stay connected to what mattered most. Journalling was their way of remembering God’s nearness, of making meaning in the dark.
That lineage lives on in you. When you open your journal in crisis, you are stepping into that sacred tradition. You are letting your life become part of the living text of spiritual history.
And if you're reading this in a moment where everything feels lost— where fear, grief, or uncertainty has left you aching— turn to spiritual journalling.
Let it hold your fears, your loss, your anxiety and your angst. In that quiet space on the page, the Divine Feminine meets you— not to fix, but to comfort.
She wraps you in presence, not platitudes.
She doesn’t demand clarity, but offers companionship.
She knows how to sit in the storm, how to rock you in the winds of grief.
You don’t need to perform or explain. You don’t need to be strong. You simply need to be willing to begin. A single word. A line. A scribble.
That’s enough.
And slowly, gently, you begin to sense a way through.
Everything will be okay.
Not because the pain disappears—but because you're no longer carrying it alone.
That’s the gift of this practice.
A pen. A page. A presence.
And a promise that even in the darkest of times, you can still be held.
This is why we created the Rose Blessings journals—not as a trend or a pretty product,
but as a sacred companion. A space where you can meet yourself honestly and gently,
with the Divine Feminine by your side.
Because sometimes, writing is the only way we remember that love never leaves us, even when everything else falls away.
May your trembling hand find the courage to hold a pen.
May the page become your sanctuary, soft and steady.
May every word you write be a step toward peace,
a breath of space in the overwhelm,
a flicker of light in the fog.
May the Divine Feminine meet you there—
not to push you through the storm,
but to stay with you inside it.
May you remember that silence is not absence,
and surrender is not failure.
May you be held—fully, tenderly, and without condition—
by the One who sees all you carry and calls you beloved.
And may you come to know, in time,
that this pain will not be the end of your story.
You are being rewritten in love.
With love and grace,
Rose Blessings
This journal is more than pages; it's a warm embrace-a place to explore, heal, and grow with love, intention, and the grace of Mary's enduring presence.
Sacred Ethereal Resources for Spiritual Growth