We can complain because rosebushes have thorns or rejoice because thorns have roses.——Monica A. Andermann

Okay. I’ll admit it. I can be a complainer. After all, there’s so much in this life to gripe about: the dirty clothes that don’t make it into the hamper, that annoying neighbor’s loud music, my husband’s shoes left splayed at the front door, rainy days, traffic…

Complaining is a habit I cultivated since childhood, a skill I honed through the years. My family didn’t seem to mind — they were great complainers, too — though I do recall some eye-rolling and long-drawn sighs from friends and schoolmates when I would voice my negative opinions. In fact, I can distinctly recall the exact moment when I first realized my complaining habit reached its expert level.

I was sitting in my college boyfriend’s car on our way to the beach one hot summer afternoon — no air conditioning, the wind messing my hair, my thighs sticking to the vinyl car seat. I’m pretty sure there was some of the above-mentioned traffic as well, though I couldn’t confirm it this many years later. In my disdain, I mumbled something about the situation under my breath. Probably for the tenth time. My usually mild-mannered boyfriend turned to me and snapped, “What are you complaining about now?”

The college boyfriend without air-conditioning and I amicably parted ways at the end of that summer. Shortly thereafter, I met a man with a much better car and attitude. We married three years later and lived together happily. Sure, there was still plenty to complain about, but he never seemed to mind. Or so I thought.

One day, as I reminded him once again to remove his bills from the dining-room table, put away his shoes away, and lower that dog-gone stereo, he put up his hand. “Stop! Stop your complaining. It’s driving me crazy.”

I looked at him blank-eyed.

He took a deep breath. “You never hear me complaining, do you?”

“Well,” I answered, “you’re complaining about my complaining, so actually, yes, I am hearing you complain right now.”

His eyes widened. A bead of perspiration formed on his upper lip. Then he grabbed hiscar keys and ran out the door.

Perhaps I’d gone too far, I thought. Maybe I really did complain too much. But, what to do about it? After all, it had been a lifetime habit. And habits are hard to break.

I took a breather and sat down to think about solutions. I could quit cold turkey. No, that wouldn’t work. When I felt annoyed, I could lock myself in the bathroom and scream. No. The neighbors would probably hear me. Phone a friend? She probably wouldn’t be a friend for very long. Then it hit me.

I’d been in the habit of keeping a journal for most of my life. It provided a sort of timeline for me, and I liked to review past entries occasionally to reminisce or review the path I had been on at that point. Journaling kept me sort of honest with myself, and I liked it for that reason. Perhaps, I thought, a complaint journal might be the answer I was seeking.

That day, I decided to give it a try. Each time I found myself feeling the urge to voice a petty irritation, I promised myself to write it in my complaint journal that evening — no holds barred. At first, I couldn’t wait to get that pen in my hand and really unload onto the paper. It felt so good, so freeing, to say exactly what was on my mind without anyone judging me or my thoughts.

The initial benefit was immediate. Without fear of recrimination, my generally reticent husband opened up to me more. Other benefits took more time to become apparent, yet I eventually became aware of them all the same. Old friendships became deeper, and new friendships appeared. Neighbors became more neighborly. Overall, I started to just feel better — happier and less stressed.

When I look back on some of my initial entries, I have to laugh out loud. Some of my gripes appear truly ridiculous when read in hindsight. I still keep that journal, though. Those few moments each day when I can sit down, take a breather from the pressures of the day and free myself of whatever is bothering me made a big difference for the better in my life. And, if you ask my husband, probably in his life, too.（778 words）