I've always been skeptical of anything labeled "self-care." The term felt overused, packaged, sold back to us as another thing we're supposed to be doing perfectly. But recently, while navigating a situation that felt impossibly hard, I stumbled into something unexpected—not as a grand plan, but as a desperate attempt to find some peace and maybe help others along the way.
It started with an idea: create something that might help. Journaling prompts paired with mandalas to color. Honestly, I thought it would just be a project, maybe earn a bit. I never expected it would end up helping me.
When Your Brain Won't Shut Up
You know that feeling when your thoughts are like browser tabs you can't close? Twenty things running simultaneously, each demanding attention, none getting resolved? That's where I was. Anxious, scattered, exhausted by my own mind.
I already knew about the benefits of journaling—the research, the studies, all of it. But knowing something intellectually and actually experiencing it are two different things. When thoughts loop endlessly in your head, they gain power. When you write them down, they become manageable. Finite. Something you can look at rather than something looking at you.
Still, even knowing this, I often found myself staring at blank pages, wondering where to start. The lack of structure sometimes made the practice feel as scattered as the thoughts I was trying to untangle.
The Science Part (Without Getting Too Nerdy)
Here's what's actually happening in your brain when you journal and create art: you're building new neural pathways. Our brains are remarkably plastic, constantly rewiring based on what we practice. When you regularly engage in reflective writing and creative activities, you're literally training your brain to be better at focus, emotional regulation, and stress management.
The prefrontal cortex—your brain's executive function center—gets a workout. Meanwhile, the amygdala, which handles your fight-or-flight response, starts to calm down. You're teaching your brain that not everything is an emergency, that there's space between stimulus and response.
Coloring, specifically, activates similar brain regions as meditation. The repetitive motions, the focus on staying within lines, the choices about color—all of it pulls you into the present moment. When you're deciding whether to use turquoise or cerulean blue, you're not ruminating about yesterday's awkward email or tomorrow's deadline.
Why Mandalas Hit Different
There's something about the circular symmetry of mandalas that works on a level beyond the visual. They've been used across cultures for centuries as meditation tools, and there's a reason for that. The patterns draw you inward. The act of coloring them feels purposeful in a way that's hard to articulate.
When you're coloring a mandala, you're engaged but not stressed. Your mind is active but not racing. It's one of the few activities where I've found that elusive state of "flow"—completely absorbed, time disappearing, the mental chatter finally, blessedly quiet.
The Unexpected Power of Structure
Here's where it gets ironic: I'm an artist. I create. I design original work. I've never bought a coloring book in my life—why would I color someone else's designs when I could make my own?
So when I spent days creating mandala vectors for this project, it was purely technical. Design work. I was focused on making something beautiful and meaningful for other people, something that might bring them peace.
Then I printed a sample to see the actual line widths/ variations, and I thought, "I should probably test this." I picked up my colored pencils that had been sitting for who knows how long and started filling in one of the mandalas I'd created.
The irony hit me immediately.
Creating those designs hadn't given me peace. The vector work was engaging, sure, but it was still work—my mind running through technical decisions, adjustments, perfection. But coloring them? That short period of time spent on just one mandala gave me a kind of calm I hadn't felt in months. A peace I didn't experience while I was designing them.
I got hooked. Me, the person who never colors, who always needs to create something original, found myself genuinely wanting to color more. It was almost embarrassing how therapeutic it felt.
That's when I understood: creation and coloring tap into completely different parts of us. Creating requires decisions, problem-solving, critique. Coloring is pure presence. The patterns are already there—you just choose colors and follow the flow. Your brain can finally rest while your hands stay busy.
When journaling is paired with themed coloring, something interesting happens. The prompt gets you thinking about, say, what you're letting go of. You write about it, process it verbally. Then you turn to a mandala designed around that same theme—maybe patterns that suggest release or transformation. The coloring becomes a continuation of the reflection, but without words. You're processing the same emotional territory through a different channel.
Left brain, right brain. Language and image. Analysis and intuition. Both matter. Both help.
What Actually Changes
I can't promise that journaling and coloring will fix everything. They haven't fixed everything for me. But here's what I have noticed after making this a regular practice:
I sleep better. My mind doesn't spiral as aggressively at 2 AM because I've already processed the day's emotional backlog on paper. I'm less reactive. That space between something happening and me responding? It's gotten wider, which means I make better choices instead of just defaulting to anxiety or anger. I understand myself better. Patterns become visible when you track your thoughts over time—what triggers you, what helps, what you actually value versus what you think you should value.
And maybe most surprisingly: I feel more creative and focused in other areas of my life. Training your brain to concentrate on coloring intricate patterns apparently transfers to being able to concentrate on work, conversations, and projects.
It Doesn't Have to Be Perfect
Some days I journal three pages. Other days, two sentences. Some days my coloring stays neatly in the lines; other days it's chaotic and I kind of love that. The practice isn't about perfection—it's about showing up.
Fifteen minutes most days does more than an hour once in a while. Consistency, not intensity. That's been the key for me.
For Anyone Who Needs This
If you're navigating something hard right now—and I mean really hard, the kind of thing that makes everything else feel impossible—you don't need another lecture about self-care. You need actual tools that work without requiring you to become a different person.
I created this project thinking it might help others while I figured out my own mess. What I didn't expect was that the very thing I made would end up helping me. That the artist who never colors would find peace in coloring. That something designed to earn a little money would end up earning something far more valuable: moments of genuine calm.
You don't need to be a good writer. You don't need to be artistic. You just need to be willing to sit with yourself for a little while each day, to give your thoughts somewhere to go besides around and around in your head.
Journaling gives voice to what you're feeling. Coloring gives it form and color. Together, they create something that feels, finally, like relief.
And maybe that's enough.
If you want to try the printable Mandala Coloring Journal, you may check the product HERE.
Download a FREE sample HERE. (A4 size, 1 spread only)
Comments ()