Journaling is more than just a "top consumer trend for 2025". It's a return to something deeply human - a way to make sense of the world, and one of the most intimate and introspective acts we can engage in.
There's a pile of books in my basement - colourful, yellowed, tattered. I was down there earlier today and picked one up: a coral-coloured, leathery notebook with a wraparound tie. I undid the knot, opened it roughly to the middle, and landed on an entry dated 25 October 2015. The handwriting was small and round. Within moments, I was back in the cold, chaotic communal kitchen of a student dormitory in rainy Brittany. The sentences were reflective, intuitive. The next book I picked up had a hard cover decorated with a bright green meadow of flowers. It took me back even further - to 2003. The sentences were those of a child, the letters angular and unpractised.
Looking through my diaries feels like a journey back to a time when schoolchildren still wrote dictations by hand, students sat in lecture halls armed with notebooks and highlighters, and people scribbled appointments down in lined diaries using thin ballpoint pens. Each person's handwriting as unique as a fingerprint.
Once I started working, my entries became fewer, shorter, more forced. At the time, I believed it was a childish habit I had to outgrow - I was starting a new chapter: dialogue instead of navel-gazing. Action over reflection. The future, not the past.
Diaries belonged to a world left behind - the world of pen pals, postcards and fountain pens. But I should have known it was just a matter of time, that diary writing would make a comeback. Not just as a passing trend, but as a cultural phenomenon.
And that is exactly what has happened. In our fast-paced, hyper-connected, digital, future-fixated world, we have come to crave the slow, the analogue, the tactile. Between 2014 and 2024, global Google searches for journaling soared by more than 230 %. And this year, journaling was identified as one of the top consumer behaviour trends in 2025.
The word "journaling" might sound more modern and appealing than plain old "diary writing", but both terms refer to the same thing: regularly writing down your thoughts, as freely as possible, without overthinking. And while writing can help people process and work through turbulent times and trauma, often their main reason for writing is simply to live better. Because journaling makes us more self-aware, confident and self-sufficient. It helps us recognise patterns and make better decisions. Some even call it the most affordable form of psychotherapy there is.
Today, there are tens of thousands of people around the world who practise writing in their diaries and follow writing tips they find in self-help books such as The Artist's Way or The Book of Shadow Work. In a recent interview, author and therapist Kathleen Adams, who was born in 1951, recalled that when she was starting out in the field, there were only a handful of books available on the subject, and noted that that number has since exploded.
Of the many journaling guides available today, most encourage would-be journalers to choose the format suits them best – screen or paper. But let's be honest: journaling and paper go together like workflow and Jira tickets.
I'm reminded of this when I attempt to jump back on the bandwagon and rekindle the pastime I abandoned back in 2006. Trying to re-acquaint myself with my creative inner self, I sit down with a fresh journal - a small, forest-green notebook. The blank pages stare back at me. I realise I'm no longer used to writing by hand. It takes effort. It takes time.
But then, after some initial hesitation, after the first few sentences, something happens: the words start to feel like my own again.
My handwriting doesn't follow any Microsoft formatting rules or UX best practices. There's no autocorrect. No keyboard between me and the page. I can see instantly if I'm rushing, angry, focused. My hand forces my thoughts to slow down. It demands that I take greater care. It teaches me to choose my words more precisely. Because handwritten words can't simply be deleted and rewritten without leaving a trace. My hand writes its way into my memory in a way that typing cannot. The science backs this up: writing by hand stimulates the brain.
And beyond all that - it's calming. The constant distractions are gone. There are no ads, no messages, no posts, no calls, no pop-up windows clamouring for attention. Just me, my thoughts and the page.
My attention has become a commodity - on my commute, at work, even over drinks with friends. It leaves me drained. And so I return to paper. With a warm cappuccino in one hand and a pen in the other. And nothing in front of me but a blank page.
