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That Terrible Thing That Happened? Write It Down ~ Here's Why

 

My family broke apart. Our home and possessions—gone. My career teetered close to extinction. In the middle of my midlife crisis, I bought a 99-cent composition notebook. I didn’t habitually journal, but I suddenly felt drawn to write down details of the unfolding events, who did what, and how I felt about it all. I also wanted to write prayers and capture anything I might receive as an answer.

Answers came in many ways, including thoughts and impressions that floated up during those writing sessions. I gained perspective. Felt heard by God. Filling multiple notebooks played an important part in my survival and ultimate thriving.

Medical studies show that writing about one’s emotional upheaval can cause improvement in mood, lessening of depressive symptoms, reduced stress, lower blood pressure, better liver function, enhanced wound healing, lessening of asthma, improved immunity, and more.

Neuroscience reports that writing about trauma lessens its impact. Whenever you tell your story—to a compassionate friend, kind therapist, or your journal—its neurological roots weaken. When a person tells their story over and over, they’re actually self-medicating…aiding their brain in recovery.

A widowed friend tells me her grief is like a huge pool. Whenever someone asks how she’s doing or honors her deceased spouse along with her, it’s like dipping a cup of water out of that pool. The depth of grief recedes a little.

I couldn’t afford a therapist and didn’t want my friendships to only focus on my crises, so unwittingly writing became my therapy of choice. The physical and mental act of putting words down:

  1. Legitimized my trauma; made it real, important.
  2. Kept me from ruminating, turning the events over and over in my mind. I didn’t need to keep bringing them up as often to myself or to my friends. In the back of my mind I knew the circumstances of my crisis were recorded and dealt with.
  3. Enabled me to get unstuck. The journals I filled gave me permission to move forward. I honored the events by writing them down, prayed for forgiveness and grace for myself and others, and now I was clean and clear. I could go on and live my life.

I still remembered the events and the people involved, it’s just that memories didn’t hold power over me, like they once did.

I still write in comp books. Every day. Sometimes I write longhand and other times I type into my computer then print it off, cut it out, and tape it into the notebook. This act of putting my life into words on a piece of paper pulls me out of the past and into the present.

Yesterday is done.

Today waits for me.

I turn the page.

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