For those of you who love to write, you know … writing heals. It’s not just an avenue to get your words out into the world. It’s not just a tool with which to influence the masses, though it can be. 

Writing, I believe … heals. 

Just 13 short years ago now, we lost our first son at 29 weeks of age.  Consequently, my emotions were raw. I was gutted in a way I had never known I could experience. The depth of pain was something I couldn’t have imagined feeling. 

I didn’t plan to write and, I didn’t want to write. But, it seemed like I needed to. 

When I was young, I loved writing. It gave me a way to communicate to an unkind world… to let my pain out when no one listened. 

But, I started becoming critical of myself. I began judging my penmanship. Then, what was going on the page. It started to become a labor. 

My college professors said I wasn’t great at writing. I struggled with the fact I wasn’t a poet. 

I needed to write …

But, somehow … with pain, came words. 

I began writing terrible stories and journal entries. And, I just kept doing it. Because, though so many had told me this wasn’t my path … I believed it was. 

Writing is an action that release our brains of trauma in a significant way. Because of that, I found that as I wrote, I cried. And, as I cried … I felt like I could fly.  

You have the ability to fly, but so much emotion is often trapped within the body because we’ve never dealt with what’s going on inside of us. 

Are you willing to deal with you? You matter, your life is important. Certainly, It’s time.

Write your story on a page. Throw it out if you don’t like it. Keep it as a reminder if you do. The action you take will itself be a journey worth taking.

What’s the story you’re telling yourself?