I had long forgotten the power of the pen. Once an avid blogger, I knew that there was something so incredibly cathartic about putting words onto paper or a screen. Out of the mind and into the open.
While I love that I can digitise my thoughts (by typing them here), there is something special about the tactile magic of holding a pen and making it move on paper; creating meaning. My meaning is created with words, some create meaning with images. I have always been a tactile learner. The irony is that I am pretty tactile sensitive when it comes to touch. But when studying, I couldn’t just read, I had to write things down. And the same is true for making sense of my inner world.
I stopped writing. I don’t know why. Time? I like to pretend its time that I lacked, but I really own the fact that I watched way too much TV and scrolled through way too much drivel on social media. A place where a status update was enough.
I have recently rediscovered the power of the pen. It took trauma exposure therapy through writing to realise what had been missing in my life for so long and why everything was overwhelming and confusing.
Pen to paper lead to so many realisations. Not only that I had downplayed the trauma, but why I had downplayed it. How my beliefs and behaviours were shaped not only by the trauma itself, but how it was dealt with, or rather not dealt with. I got insight into how my body has memories from the trauma; memories that have impacted my relationships, not only with others, but with myself. It opened me up to beliefs that no longer served and it also split me wide open so that I could feel everything; things I had not allowed myself to feel.
Talking about my feelings is not something I am too familiar with. It is uncomfortable and difficult. My desire to not speak comes from a deep rooted sense of mistrust. It also comes from an unemotional upbringing; where feelings were not validated, where any feelings came with the threat of one being given something to cry about. Those, among other experiences made me feel like I didn’t have a voice. Made me feel like my feelings didn’t matter.
Throughout some incredibly turbulent years in my early twenties, I always had my faithful companions; notebooks. I would write it all out. They made the world seem less lonely, they made me feel validated. Even if it were only sheets of paper that really knew me, I managed to move through and move on.
Writing is my preferred medium of communication; it is where I am able to express my thoughts without being interrupted, without having to witness someone else’s response to what I am writing. I am able to express myself more coherently and I am able to stop and take a breather when any overwhelming emotions may arise. These days I can get chocked up in conversation for no good reason at all.
Writing just for oneself, letting go and not having the boundary of fear and judgement is something I treasure. This is a reminder to myself to not forget it!!