So there I was. Sitting on the floor of my bedroom, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito of indecision, staring at my journal like it might sprout answers if I just looked dramatic enough. I had a stable job I didn’t hate—but didn’t love. A half-built idea sitting quietly in my Google Drive. And a brain that was too introverted for panic but definitely too restless for peace.

Should I stay? Should I go? Should I keep pretending that one day the answer would just arrive like a DHL package marked “LIFE PURPOSE”?
Hell no! It was time to ask better questions.

Okay. But How Do You Actually Journal for Clarity?

First of all, you don’t need to do morning pages. You don’t need a fancy notebook. You don’t need to light sage and wear linen (unless that’s your thing, in which case: respect).
You just need a pen, paper, and the willingness to stop lying to yourself.

Here’s what you do:
Find a quiet pocket of time—early morning, post-shower, pre-bed. Ideally, a moment where the world isn’t asking anything of you. Sit down. Breathe. And instead of writing about your day, ask yourself one bold, slightly uncomfortable question.

Mine was:
“What decision feels like relief in my body, even if it sounds scary in my head?”

You can steal it. Or try:

“What am I pretending not to know?”
“If I wasn’t scared, what would I do next?”
“What would I do if nobody was watching?”

Write whatever comes up. No editing. No fixing. No trying to sound wise. This is not a TED Talk. It’s a note from your gut to your brain.

Can You Do It Wrong?

Honestly? No. You might resist it. You might write, “I don’t know” twelve times. You might go off on a tangent about your high school chemistry teacher. That’s fine. Let the fog come through. Just don’t stop at the surface. Push past the polite version of yourself and wait for the honest one to show up.

That’s when the real gold appears—not perfectly formed answers, but threads. Gut pulls. Tiny glimmers of what you actually want underneath all the shoulds.

Keep writing until something shifts. It doesn’t have to be a breakthrough. Just a breadcrumb. That’s all you need to keep moving.

What Happens After You’ve Written the Thing?

Draw branches. Write down anything that connects: possibilities, fears, ideas, wild dreams, weird solutions. Don’t filter. Don’t censor. You’re not making a plan—you’re mapping a mental landscape.

What you’ll often see is this magical little loop: one or two branches that lead back to each other. A pattern. A theme. That’s usually your next step waving at you like, “hey, yes, hi, it’s me.”

From there, you can start researching, exploring, or just sitting with that awareness for a few days. You don’t need to act immediately. You just need to know what’s real.

And Then?

Well… that depends. You might decide to tweak your role, have a calm but honest chat with your manager, take a sabbatical, or start a secret side project.

If your journaling leads you in the direction of entrepreneurship—but you’re not sure how to start (or tell anyone without breaking out in hives)—you might like this piece I wrote: How to Build an Introvert Business in Silence. It’s cozy. And zero pressure.

So the next time you’re spiraling, Googling “Should I quit my job?” for the 17th time, try this instead:
Close the tabs. Open your journal. Ask a better question.
You might be surprised how much your quiet brain already knows—if you just give it the mic for ten minutes.