When my mom was really sick I remember standing in line at the coffee shop in a complete daze. The world was spinning around me and everyone was moving at a rapid pace; the same pace I used to move in before I heard the words stage four cancer. On the outside it may have looked like I had it all together, but on the inside I was crumbling. As people buzzed around me they had no idea that my life was changing forever.
We move through life so quickly. We live in our own little bubbles. We feel sometimes that we are the only ones suffering, the only ones fighting to take that next step forward, the only ones with a wide open gash in our heart. But the truth of the matter is we are not the only ones. We all struggle, we all suffer, we all need to figure out how to take the next step.
The best part about being human is that
we do not need go through our struggles alone.
Writing was a huge part of helping me heal through my mom's death. I filled many pages of my journal and also shared some of my writing publicly on my blog. My words were raw and honest. I consciously choose not to censor them. It was through this vulnerability that I invited others in. Individuals reached out with love, they shared their own stories, and provided a simple acknowledgment for what I was going through.
It was through this sharing that I realized I wasn't alone.
I had also created a private email list with a small group of family and friends that I would write to. Having this outlet helped me process a lot of the feelings I was struggling with. It was a safe space for me to spill open. I wrote about my fears, my memories, my sadness, and my pain. This small group of individuals held these words close and gave me space to heal in my own time.
After my mom's death I began writing letters to her. I have a special notebook dedicated to this. I tell her about the latest things that are going on. Give her the gossip and the inside scoop. I share with her more in those letter than I ever had when she was here. Writing these letters gives me an opportunity to continue to connect with her.
Writing seems like such a simple thing, but putting words onto paper is cathartic and opens the gate to your heart. The page gives you space to spill open and just be. It never once judges what you put on it and that is an incredible gift. You are the one who chooses if you share it or not. You can rip it up, burn it, or let others read what you have wrote. You are the keeper of your words.
When you write you open up the gate to your heart and give yourself a little bit of breathing room. You can spill about your past or dream about your future. You decide where the pen is going to go.
I have been writing ever since I was small. It has been so long that I don't even know what life was like before I found the page. I carry a notebook with me everywhere I go and spill the contents of my heart into it. The pages aren't filled with pretty writing or the most eloquent of words but they are filled with my deepest desires, my worries and fears, list of places I want to visit, dreams I hope to one day accomplish, ramblings of things I didn't know I needed to work through, and moments of love and happiness.
I don't know who I would be if I didn't have the opportunity to figure it out on the page. Writing is an outlet for me that helps me untangle everything that get's twisted. It is my saving grace when I feel off kilter and overwhelmed. It provides me sanity, connection, and a chance to be compassionate with myself. I know that writing has save my life time and time again.
As an avid writer and a believer that words
can heal our hearts I want to work with you.
