Finding the Healing Power of Writing

When I was working through my passion projects last week, everything was set. Every duck in its perfect row. Last week, my creative life was headed in the right direction, the way I’d always hoped it’d go. Things were falling into place.

Until everything fell apart.

In the Midst of Gray

On Sunday morning, my nine-year-old bunny Joey passed away. I was crushed. He was with me through several milestones in my life – my first serious relationship, the whirlwind of college as a double major, graduation, my career as an educator, radiation treatment, my first surgery.

He was there through the highs and lows. My comfort and sidekick. And in the past year, I fell into the habit of reminding him that he had to live forever. That he needed to do it for me.

Unfortunately, everything in this life comes to an end someday. And Sunday was his someday.

Clinging to my faith, I found healing in a place I’ve grown to know well – writing. And the process presented itself in 3 distinct forms.

Tribute

I kept a special notebook beside me at all times. A gift from my Guam friends to use as a way to capture my life in Portland, I thought it was fitting for the notebook to serve as a catch-all for this day.

When a thought about Joey came to mind, I automatically turned to the next page. How he loved when I massaged his belly. How he’d launch into a Leprechaun-like leap when he got a good running start. How he’d snort when he was being sassy.

Each and every one. Written down. They were my way of memorializing my fluffy one.

And I remained gentle with myself. Rather than trying to smash all the details together, I gave myself a ridiculous amount of time to work through the words. To let them trickle through me. To breathe through the stroke of the pen.

Release

At times, I had enough control to compose these entries with a quiet calm. But during most of the process,  I let the tears fall, yielding to the emotions, moving forward in the stillness.

I was making space inside me, allowing the broken pieces to bleed. To recall the joy. To liberate the worry they held for so long. Nothing was censored.

Every ounce of guilt and anger I felt towards myself, they flowed from my fingers. Every question that’ll never be answered, penned in bravery. And beside these, every kind word my loved ones offered that resonated with me. These seeped in and through me onto the page.

Comfort

The notebook stayed with me, even as I lay down to sleep. So when I’d wake up in the middle of the night, it was there. Ready to be a container for my tribute or release.

In this way, the wounds began to close, erasing the fear that any of the details would be lost. All that I could keep I kept in that journal.

And I still carry it around with me. I’m still giving myself the chance to grieve. When people who’ve heard about my loss ask me if I’m okay, I can confidently answer, “I will be.” Soon.

I don’t know what you’re facing right now, lovely. Maybe you’re on the bright side of the hill. Perhaps you’re in the valley of shadows. In Rochelle Melander’s Write-a-Thon, she shares how “the practice of writing can heal.”

So wherever you find yourself, write steadfast about the honest truth. Give it a place. Then decide to keep it as a tribute or as a comfort. Or release it out into the world.

Whatever you do, let the process of healing and building begin.