Journaler's Routine No. 6: LaTonya Yvette on the Journal as Creative Doula

"Without my journal, I think I would have given up and not finished the book."

Welcome to the sixth installment of the Journaler’s Routine—a summer series in collaboration with Random House, where I invite contributors from The Book of Alchemy to share the writing rituals that sustain their creative lives.

Now that we’re halfway through the series, certain themes have begun to surface—threads that run through the contributors’ reflections and the community’s responses alike. One recurring theme is the deep vulnerability of journaling: many of you have shared stories of violation, of a family member or friend trespassing into the pages of your notebook. The aftermath is often silence, a closing-up. I’ve known that feeling too.

Others are preoccupied with a different question—the fate of their journals: Should I burn them? Excise the most revealing parts? Turn them into art? Leave them for posterity?

And then there are those, like Julie, who are only just beginning. She started journaling five years ago and recently shared in the comments:

“When I read about people who’ve journaled their entire lives, I feel inadequate and sad that I didn’t. I remember wanting to, but never did. Why didn’t I have the fortitude to put pen to paper when I was young?”

I wanted to urge her to be gentle with herself—but I didn’t have to. Julie found her own answer:

“What if I had been journaling since I was young, and my notebooks were lost in a fire or flood? I’d be in the same place I am now.”

And this—now—is the only place any of us ever get to be.

Earlier this week, during a hybrid workshop-conversation with Melissa Febos, we spoke about the journal as a kind of labyrinth. Unlike a maze, there are no dead ends, no wrong turns. That, to me, is the quiet power of this practice: it’s not a performance, not meant for anyone else. The journal meets you where you are—no matter the season, no matter the noise. It charts your way by walking it with you.

That’s true for today’s guest as well: the writer, storyteller, and community builder LaTonya Yvette, whose essay in The Book of Alchemy, “The Shape of Goodbye,” maps the texture of grief and grace. Her journal is a companion—whether she’s on her couch, in a park, drafting a book, or finding her way through heartbreak.

To step inside LaTonya’s routine, read on—

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What does your journaling routine look like when it’s at its most gratifying? Do you have a favorite place, time of day, or ritual that helps you journal?

Like writing a book, I try to journal first thing in the morning when the sun is still coming up, when I’m less judgmental of what comes and will let what may arrive. However, if I’m struggling through something, I bring my journal around with me and will journal wherever (park bench!) I can. I tend to process a lot in my head and through my writing, so this is the best way for me.

Can you tell us about a moment when keeping a journal unlocked something for you, personally or creatively?

In 2021, I had a really difficult break-up, and journaling (thanks to my friend R, who gifted me one!) really helped me process it (along with therapy). So much so, I was able to finish Stand In My Window—without it, I think I would have given up and not finished the book. I need a place to put a part of me that had nothing to do with the book while writing it—since so much of the writing process is emotional.

If your journals were read posthumously, what, if anything, would you want destroyed?

I’d like my children to maybe read one (?!) of my journals after I’m gone—to hold on to it. However, the rest can burn! Too embarrassing—who would want to read that? Certainly not me, and definitely not my children (I hope). Unless they could be redacted and translated into some wonderful art project?

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Today’s Contributor—

LaTonya Yvette is a storyteller, writer, community builder, and steward of the Mae House, an upstate New York rental property and the home of Rest as Residency, which offers BIPOC families a no-cost place for rest and focus. She writes on style, family, and culture at With Love, L, and is the author of Woman of Color, The Hair Book, and Stand in My Window: Meditations on Home and How We Make It. She consults with various organizations regarding creative strategy, storytelling, creative direction, content, curating, building and maintaining digital and editorial communities with a focus on care and impact. She lives in Brooklyn with her two children, River and Oak.

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Some related reading—

• To Betray or Not to Betray, an installment of my advice column Dear Susu, where I answer the question “How do I write my story without hurting the people I love?”—and share my good-faith protocol for writing about others

• My Hands Have Never Been Just Hands, a video replay of our creative hour with Melissa Febos, where we talked about how writing can return you to your body, soften your grip on the unloved parts, and help mend your relationship with them

• Letters from Love, a workshop with the dazzling Elizabeth Gilbert, where she shares the transformative spiritual practice she’s used for twenty-five years to combat self-criticism and to access an ocean of unconditional love