Writing Is Therapeutic

I gained the nickname “Writer Chick” from my mom because I write so much. I have a passion for it the same way some men do about football; in translation, I take it seriously. There has never been a time when I wasn’t writing something down. Expressing myself in words make me feel at ease. Anyone can understand me on the page if the did understand me when I speak.

One thing I tried to do is to keep a journal, this was always an epic fail for me. I could never write down my day every day. I could, however, write down significant events, or strong feelings I couldn’t tell anyone else. After I put something on paper I felt better or worse.

Sometimes when I would write down things I felt in anger I would go back and rip it up and throw it away. I knew the only people who knew I felt that way was me and God. Since the paper was ripped to shreds nobody could read it. The same thing can go for typing, I just delete the file and no one ever knows my true feelings. But after I’m done, it’s like I went to therapy.

I can’t say this works all the time, but it works enough for me to do it often. I do it when I’m mad the most. Recently I did it when I had a breakdown. Even if no one sees it, as long as I get out of my funk, I’m fine.

So, grab a pen and write what’s in your brain. When you read it back you’ll be surprised. You might even find a talent or a hobby.


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