Writing & Wailing

This morning I wrote some hard things in my morning pages. In three spiral-bound pages, I wrote what feels true even though I wish I was wrong. This practice teaches me how to be unflinching in my assessment of my head and heart. The practice is building spinal fortitude and self-validation. When I write hard things in this notebook, I notice that I can leave the pain and disappointment on the page. I feel unburdened by the ability to acknowledge hard things and move along with my day. Even when it’s hard to write the things I write, I am filled with awe that I have made this kind of progress. I walk through my day much lighter—even when nothing has changed or improved.

There are all sorts of science to back up these claims. I am clearer-headed and lighter of spirit because I no longer fear the words I put down on paper each day. In some ways, I recognize I cannot unread what I have written and that can feel daunting, but mostly, I feel grateful for the courage to look at my sorrow in the eye and remind myself it will not break me.  

A few minutes after I completed the writing and while I waited for my oatmeal to finish cooking, I thought about what I’d written and burst into tears. I sobbed and my shoulders shook and I knew my body was releasing years’ worth of pent-up sorrow and stress. I can feel more vulnerable in these moments of crying alone, but I also hear a still, small voice telling me this is exactly what my body needs and to keep crying. That’s it. Keep wailing. You will feel better in time.

After the writing and then the wailing, something clicks. I feel stronger in moments of weakness. I don’t know what’s to come, but I know I can handle it when it greets me.