When I lost my son three years ago, the excruciating agony shooting through my body was the worst I’ve ever known. It was hurting like hell. No amount of human power could ease the unbearable pain I had gone through. I almost lost all the capability to feel and to think. The writing was the only task I can manage that does not require anything I can’t. I’ve known it since young. Writing when life was difficult had been my way of life and an automatic thing for me.
I write to him every day on my journal telling him everything I would like to as if he was talking to me as well. It made me feel connected to him again. It doesn’t matter if it is an illusion I created for myself because it provided me the deepest desire of my heart to have him around alive.
I was able to find a way out through writing when I was losing myself in sorrow. I cried with my pen on my journal. Those tears seem washing every bit of the grief I had, letting me see things impossible to see when clouded with emotions. Writing made me aware of what’s going on. It also helps me break free from the endless mental torture I was going through. It organizes my thoughts and lets me find meaning out of the experience.
It gives me hope and courage to move on no matter how lumpy I was then. The writing helps me gain strength on my feelings of powerlessness over my terrifying situations. It gives me a safe place that allows me to wrestle and have my power back.
Over the time I realized how it made me bear the pain with grace. People may repress and pushed painful experiences from consciousness into the unconscious which can be the trap in a toxic pattern. In writing we find better ways of coping which can also lead us to our own healing process.
I often hear people saying they do not know what to write. Here is a big shout to “Start with where it hurts,” it may lead you to something you never knew like the way it did to me.
You might want to check where writing where it hurts leads me: