This prompt of Linda’s couldn’t have come at a more opportune (if you wish to look at it that way) time as the past couple of weeks has seen my emotions swing to extremes.
As I sat at my computer this morning, I realised that I needed to write a blog post but what to write…. what to write…. and then I found this prompt. Okay, technically it is Sunday where I am but I think I probably squeak into Saturday for those of you on the northern side of the equator. Continue reading
The other evening I was having a conversation with an ex-colleague and it turned toward my writing. I told her that I was writing about depression. As she expressed interest in what I have to say, she commented that she wished she could find a way to deal with her depression. I asked her if she wrote. She replied that she doesn’t because she can’t. And so our discussion began in earnest.
Writing is not just for those who can write. It is for everyone. Writing is a form of self expression – much like interpretive dance (but without an audience who may find what you are doing extremely funny). When you write, you take the thoughts from your head and put them on paper. Those thoughts might not make any sense when you are writing them but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are expressing your feelings. Writing is actually the least expensive form of therapy you will ever find.
I have books littering my home. I love stores like Typography with their beautiful books filled with untouched pages just waiting for me to make my mark upon them. When I see a book I love, I will buy it and with joy, write. Then I find another book and… well you get the picture. I journal frantically for a month or two and then my journalling drops off for a while until I pick it up again. But I’m so glad that I do journal. Because when I journal I leave a legacy for my children. I capture what is happening in my life at any given time and it is there for all time.
“I pulled this journal out again today. I’m probably being a bit arrogant thinking my children will be interested in reading the meanderings of my mind when I’m old and senile (although they probably think I am now 🙂 )”
25th November 2006
Maybe I am being arrogant, but I do know that my children wonder what makes me tick. Maybe my writing will help them understand me. I know it helps ME understand me. It is also such a release. Writing is cathartic. That’s probably why I enjoy blogging so much. I get to share what I have learned and anecdotes about my quirky family with others in the world. And in doing so, I realise that I am not alone. There are others who feel the same as I do and understand what I am trying to say. Through my writing and journalling, I have recorded thoughts and feelings that I can now look back on and recognise them for what they were – symptoms of depression. There are pages filled with minutiae about the days but then there are the pages filled with my innermost thoughts. My journals record my journey through life.
So how does this fit in with my conversation? I urged my colleague to buy a book (or find an old exercise book) and begin writing about her experiences and her feelings. She was worried that her husband might find the book and read it. So I suggested that she either hide the book or write her feelings about her husband out and then burn them and let those feelings go. Either way works well.
There is so much more I can say about writing for therapy but I’ll save that for another post.
“My stars said that today I would take time out to find peace and quiet. I think this was it.”
3rd June 2010
Have a blessed day 🙂
ps: Throat is a little less sore this morning but I feel still heavy in the head. Hi Ho, Hi Ho.. it’s off to work I go 🙂