The Quiet Power of the Page

Why Your Journal May Be the Only Validation You Truly Need

The October night air was cool and clear at Red Rocks, Colorado’s natural amphitheater nestled inside ancient monolithic sedimentary stone that stretched our necks as we turned our gaze upwards to find the summit. Under the vastness of the stars, a thousand small lights blinked as people lifted their phones, capturing the glow of nearby faces nodding in rhythm to Laufey’s voice, soft, jazzy, and elegant.

And then, cutting through the quiet between songs, came the sound of a small boy’s voice.

“See me! Notice me!”

He shouted it as loud as his lungs could manage: an urgent plea flung into the darkness toward the stage. Laufey continued into her next song, likely never hearing him.

But the cry lingered in my mind.

We’ve all felt it: that deep, instinctual longing to be seen, to be known, to have our existence affirmed. As children, we often gauge our self-worth by the reactions of others, such as smiles or nods. As adults, we learn to disguise it better. Our ‘rewards’ of worth are projected in our overabundance of stuff, bad habits, and empty accolades from people that don’t really matter, leaving us just wanting more. Yet the need remains.

What follows is an exploration of this relentless need and how we might address it on our own terms.

The Validation Trap

Psychologists have long known that humans are wired for connection. In early childhood, validation—the mirroring of our emotions and experiences by caregivers—is not merely comforting; it is essential for healthy development. When a parent meets a child’s cry with empathy: “I see you. You’re scared. I’m here.”, the child internalizes safety and self-worth.

But as we grow, many of us become caught in a different loop: seeking approval from others to confirm our value.

Dr. Jennifer Crocker, a social psychologist at Ohio State University, calls this the contingencies of self-worth. We begin to anchor our value in external markers: grades, appearance, income, popularity, and praise. Her research shows that when self-esteem depends on these external sources, people experience higher stress, defensiveness, anxiety, and emotional volatility.

When your worth is determined by how others see you, you are standing on shifting ground. A compliment lifts you; silence unravels you. This is the external validation trap.

Edward Tory Higgins’s self-discrepancy theory explains the mechanics of this tension. Within each of us exists three selves:

- the actual self (who we are),

- the ideal self (who we want to be), and

- the ought self (who we believe we should be).

The greater the gap between these selves, the greater our discomfort. Validation from others briefly fills that gap: a “like,” an award, a word of praise—offering temporary relief. But it is borrowed worth. When the attention fades, the gap remains.

I am reminded of the London Underground’s iconic warning: mind the gap.

And so the cycle spins on: perform → receive validation → feel seen → lose it → perform again.

It is a treadmill of self-worth: exhausting, endless, and ultimately, unsustainable.

When External Validation Becomes Identity

Consider how modern culture contributes to this. The influencer economy, the like button, and the algorithmic chase for recognition have gamified our very tools of expression for attention.

Even something as sacred as family can become performance. We curate our online relationships for others’ consumption, hoping the world sees us as happy, accomplished, and aligned.

But this dependence on external validation has a quiet cost: it distances us from our own inner knowing.

Carl Rogers, one of the founders of humanistic psychology, argued in his seminal work On Becoming a Person (1961) that mental health depends on congruence—the alignment between who we are and how we present ourselves. When we abandon our own internal compass to please others, we lose congruence and with it, authenticity.

Over time, we forget how to validate ourselves.

The Shift in Mindset

What if validation didn’t have to come from others?

What if the act of noticing yourself—your thoughts, emotions, sensations—was enough?

In Buddhist philosophy, the practice of mindfulness teaches precisely this. Through quiet observation, we become witnesses to our inner life without judgment. The Sanskrit greeting Namaste translates as “I see the divine in you.” But what if you turned that greeting inward?

What if you said, “I see the divine in me.”

This is where journaling becomes radical. It’s not self-indulgent. It’s self-validating.

When you write for no audience, no editor, no algorithm—you are bearing witness to your own existence.

The Power of the Page

To journal is to create a space where you can say, “I see you. I hear you.” It’s an internal mirror. It’s a witness who never interrupts, never scrolls away.

Psychologist James Pennebaker’s landmark research on expressive writing shows that writing about emotional experiences improves both mental and physical health. His studies found that individuals who wrote about trauma or deep emotion for just 15 minutes a day over several days experienced improved immune function, reduced stress, and greater clarity.

I’m also always looking for the humor when I write. Laughing at ourselves helps lighten the gravity and allows for a newer perspective. It makes big, insurmountable things seem less crushing. It doesn’t always work. Sometimes the conversation with yourself needs to be in a more serious tone. Just like talking with a friend, you’ll know when a gentle laugh can allow for a deeper breath of relaxing into ‘and so it is.’

Writing externalizes emotion; it translates the abstract swirl of thought into concrete language. Once words exist on the page, the mind can see them, hold them, and eventually release them.

Anne Frank and the Private Witness

Few examples demonstrate this better than Anne Frank.

Confined in hiding, she turned to her diary—not as a document for the world, but as a conversation with herself. Through Kitty, her imagined friend and recipient, she found both companionship and clarity.

Her words were not written to impress. They were written to survive.

That, perhaps, is the truest validation: the act of writing that says “I am still here.”

While Frank’s diary was intensely private, its eventual publication transformed countless lives—reminding us that our personal reflections sometimes have unexpected reach, touching others in ways we could never anticipate, yet this potential future audience need not be our focus when we write.

You don’t need a war, a tragedy, or a famous diary to justify your journaling. The brilliance is in the ordinary—the morning coffee, the sound of rain, the quiet noticing of your own internal whispers.

The Art of Noticing the Smaller Things

Journal writing sharpens what David Sedaris calls the art of noticing.

Sedaris, the celebrated essayist, has kept diaries for decades. In his book Theft by Finding: Diaries (1977–2002), he records everything from odd conversations to fleeting thoughts. He once said, “When you write down what you see every day, you start to notice more.”

To notice is to honor.

Writing down the small details—the way fog rests on the horizon, the smell of fresh cut grass —trains the mind toward presence.

This, too, is validation.

You’re saying: My life is worth noticing. My days matter.

The Unedited Truth

Journaling is not meant for performance. It’s not about the aesthetic leather notebook or the perfect morning routine. The Nike expression, “Just do it,” comes to mind—the act of not overthinking but moving forward in a daily practice. The practice is never the performance.

It’s about truth-telling—sometimes ugly, sometimes luminous, often both.

As writer Julia Cameron teaches in The Artist’s Way, morning pages are “stream-of-consciousness writing, three pages of longhand, done first thing in the morning.” The goal is not art but excavation.

While many find power in the tactile experience of pen on paper—the physical act of forming letters that slow thought to match the movement of the hand—others find that digital journaling offers accessibility and searchability. The medium matters less than the commitment to showing up on the page, whether physical or virtual.

You write to see what you think. You write to let what’s been buried rise to the surface.

This kind of writing—raw, unedited, for-your-eyes-only—is powerful precisely because it frees you from needing anyone else’s reaction.

The page validates your existence.

The Spiritual Dimension: Writing as Prayer

When you journal deeply, you’re not just talking to yourself. You’re opening a dialogue with God or the universe.

Writers from mystics to modern thinkers—Thomas Merton, Rainer Maria Rilke, Mary Oliver—have described the page as a form of prayer.

Wayne Dyer often said that “meditation is the practice of becoming aware of your connection to the Source.” In journaling, we do something similar with words: we connect.

I often find that the most profound insights come not when I’m trying to write something wise but when I’m simply honest. The act itself—pen, paper, stillness—creates space for grace.

Another of my daily practices, walking meditation, works in much the same way and illuminates your awareness to allow you to connect more deeply on the page. As your body moves rhythmically, thoughts settle. For example, during a recent morning walk along a neighborhood trail, the repetitive crunch of gravel underfoot became a metronome for my thoughts, allowing a persistent worry to dissolve into a broader perspective I later captured in my journal. The mind quiets enough for more profound truth to rise. When you later write those truths down, you anchor them in form.

Invitation to Practice (Start Small)

So how do we begin?

You don’t need a system, an app, or a fancy notebook. You only need willingness and five quiet minutes.

Here’s one way to start:

1. Daily 5-minute start. Begin each morning (or evening) with “I am…” or “Today I felt…”

2. Don’t edit. Let your pen move faster than your inner critic. Spelling, grammar, structure—none of it matters. This type of writing is sometimes called ‘stream of consciousness’ or ‘freewriting.’

3. Anchor it to reality and creativity. Describe your surroundings: the temperature, the sound of traffic, the light in the room. This grounds you.

4. Ask one question if you like prompts. “What am I needing today?” or “Where am I seeking validation?”

5. Monthly read-back. Once a month, review some of your prior entries. Notice patterns, gratitude, shifts.

Over time, you’ll notice something: you won’t need as much validation from the outside world. You’ll start trusting your own awareness.

The Return to the Night Air

I keep thinking about that little boy at the Laufey concert—his voice small and desperate. “See me! Notice me!”

In a way, he is all of us. The part that desperately wants to matter. But perhaps the most profound witness is the one within.

When I pick up my pen tonight, alone in the stillness at the end of a day or at the crest of a new daybreak, I affirm to myself as I write in my journal,

“I see you. You exist. I am your witness. You are enough.”

And in that moment, the page becomes louder than applause. The silence becomes my audience. The divine becomes my witness.

We can be that voice for ourselves.

And little by little, that becomes enough.

Namaste.

Reader Reflection

How do you relate to validation? Have you felt the pull between wanting to be seen and learning to see yourself?

Do you journal? If so, what has it given you?

Share below. I’d love to read your stories!