to pay attention to. In doing so, the practitioner begins to live paying attention as a precursor to reflection. It nurtures curiosity and challenge – ‘Why do I respond as I do?’ shifting paying attention as a retrospective activity to a living activity and the ability to reflect‐within‐the–moment.
In my action research study of working with an NHS Trust to implement clinical supervision (Johns 1997), Holly (one of the participants) noted in response to the question ‘was keeping a diary helpful’ ‘yes, but I wish I had managed to do so on a daily basis. When I reflected in the group on experiences I had previously written down, I feel we were able to get much further than when I talked about something off the top of my head’. In the same study, Lisa noted ‘I feel a reflective diary would be very helpful, although I was not able to keep a diary which I put down to time constraints. I feel it would be useful as the experiences that I wrote out in preparation for supervision encouraged me to reflect further’.
The benefits of keeping a reflective journal are evident in Susan Brooks’ (2004) reflection:
Having never attempted to keep a reflective journal before, the journey ahead seemed a little daunting as evidenced by the first recorded entry – ‘Today I start my journal. What shall I write? I’m really worried about this whole thing –will I get time to do it – will I want to do it – will I do it right? If I’m honest in it will it matter if others read it? Reflective practice – what is it really? I think I know but I don’t think I’ve ever really done it properly. I feel so uncertain about everything at the moment and a bit scared and threatened. I don’t feel I know anything about myself really and I suppose I just do what I do to fit in. I need to get over this and get on with it – pull yourself together Sue – you know you can do it.
This first journal entry reveals my initial uncomfortable reactions to the prospect of journal writing. I had doubts about my capacity to write, felt threatened by having to face myself on paper, questioned my ability to manage my internal censors that may inhibit complete honesty and held the naïve assumption that there is a correct way to keep a journal ‐ all classic reactions to journaling (Street 1995). My initial fears were quickly dispelled as the value of my journal soon became evident. After I while, it seemed to become a powerful emancipatory tool in giving my innermost thoughts voice. I was the only person with access to the journal and, possibly because of this, it became a very cathartic experience to write. As the process continued, I soon recognised that I did not need to confront all the chaos of my personal or professional life at any one time and became more discriminatory about the events that I considered worthy of deeper reflection and subsequent action (Street 1995). The journal became, in a sense, my autobiography containing both positive and less than positive experiences ‐ a non‐hagiographic record of my daily life. My journal had, after just a few months on the course, become a silent but very powerful and challenging teacher – perhaps more persuasive and influential than any human embodiment that I had met. The following entry signifies just how my attitude had changed since that first entry at the start of the course. ‘I read of a teacher today who got very excited about writing his journal. He wrote that he felt especially good about writing for himself instead of someone else. His written thoughts were entirely his own regardless of lack of style, format or academic expression. He had never written like this before and felt that he was really communicating with and understanding himself’. That’s just how I feel now and I wish I had started writing like this ages ago. To be unrestricted by structural rigour, academic expectations and the approval of others is so liberating!
From the practical aspect, a double entry technique was used with the factual account (data collection) of the experience written on the left of the page and the reflective thought (the analysis) on the right (Moon 2002). Both the ordinary and extraordinary events of every day practice were included to prevent selective inattention, particularly to the seemingly mundane, where habitual routinized practice is thought most likely to occur (Heath and Freshwater 2000). I considered myself to be the primary research tool here. If the journal was to accurately and consistently record my own experiential world I needed to maintain a strong sense of commitment to the task and demonstrate the skills necessary to the reflective cycle – self‐awareness, description, critical analysis, synthesis and evaluation (Atkins and Murphy 1993). Keeping a journal enabled me to enter into a dialogue between my objective and subjective self and it transformed my feeling self into a spectator and analyst of my own personal professional drama (Street 1995). Street (1995) writes that journaling provides the reflector with a process for meta–theorising, that is thinking about the processes of thinking. This significantly developed not only my skills of reflection but also my skills as a learner in general, moving me away from my previously held attitude that knowledge (and not necessarily enhanced learning skills) was the goal to be achieved.
Susan extols the virtue of keeping her journal. Note her technique of dividing the page. And yet, at the beginning, she felt daunted. It is a serious matter for the practitioner to enter into reflective practice. It requires commitment and responsibility reflecting why practitioners might struggle to keep a reflective journal. They are tired at the end of the day, they want to switch off, they don’t see the value, they do not have the discipline, they don’t find it meaningful, they lack technique, or they don’t see the point. Perhaps writing needs the stimulus of a specific purpose such as an educational course, clinical supervision or demand to keep a professional portfolio. Put another way, practitioners might need to do something with their writing. As such, it may need to be a means towards an end rather than just an end in itself. I found this true for myself as I wrote and reflected on my experiences with the intention of constructing a reflexive narrative, using my stories as a format for teaching, and analysing the learning process as an educational and research approach. For students, it may be writing a reflective assignment. For practitioners, it may be keeping a professional journal as necessary for professional re‐registration. As Susan comments, some practitioners will find writing story easy whilst others struggle as if some mind censor constrains the writing potential. If you have never written about self before, it may feel strange, even threatening. The reflective mirror is not always kind, especially if we write about things we find difficult for whatever reason. Then we may subconsciously distort our recall and create false impressions of ourselves. Hence writing is courageous. It requires effort, honesty, and perseverance.
Tapping the Tacit
Writing may be difficult for practitioners because much of their knowing is tacit and not easily explainable (Schön 1983). In other words, practitioners may struggle to write what they know. This can be frustrating. Schön (1983, p. 49) writes:
When we go about the spontaneous intuitive performance of the actions of everyday life, we show ourselves to be knowledgeable in a certain way. Often we cannot say what it is we know. When we try to describe it we find ourselves at loss, or we produce descriptions that are obviously inappropriate. Our knowing is ordinarily tacit, implicit in our action and in our feel for the stuff with which we are dealing. It seems to right to say that our knowing is in our doing.
Writing brings tacit knowing to the surface like a bubbling underground brook. Holly (1989, p. 71) writes:
It [keeping a reflective journal] makes possible new ways of theorizing, reflecting on and coming to know one’s self. Capturing certain words while the action is fresh, the author is often provoked to question why… writing taps tacit knowledge; it brings into awareness that which we sense but could not explain.
Whilst I draw the reader’s attention to the idea of tacit knowing, in effect, it is not an issue the practitioner should worry about when writing a description. It becomes more of any issue in responding to reflective cues, as explored in Chapter 4.
Being Creative
Writing descriptions of experiences should be a creative activity. The practitioner should feel free to write in any linguistic form
