Hello dear readers!
I've often heard the phrase, “You should write about that,” almost as much as the question, “So, what keeps you going?” But where do you begin when the very thing you’re asked to write about is what has silenced you? How do you find the words for something that has numbed you to your own thoughts, your past, your present, and even your future?
How do you give voice to silence? How can the page become a safe haven when trust—in yourself and in others—feels so far away?
Where do you begin?
I grew up filling diaries, writing letters, crafting stories, and curating childhood magazines that I’d eagerly share with patient family and friends. I became an educator, earned a B’Ed (Hons), and delved into the research of literacy development, completing an MSc with Distinction, even winning awards and scholarships for my words.
Yet, by 2022, none of that seemed to matter. Years of anticipatory and compounded grief had caused my physical and mental health to deteriorate to the point where words became elusive, slipping away before they could form into thoughts or speech.
So, when my therapist suggested, "You should write about that," I couldn’t help but wonder if she was trying to reconnect me to the writer I once was or if this was simply the next tool in her Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) kit.
I didn’t hear her reply.
As she patiently responded to my question, my mind wandered elsewhere. For the first time in 18 months, I found myself vividly imagining my right hand holding a pen between my thumb and two forefingers, feeling the soft, cool texture of paper beneath the gentle brush of my little finger. In my mind's eye, I could see my body moving to write.
When that virtual therapy session ended, the stillness and quiet of my home engulfed me. With no obligations or distractions, the contrast between the session and my reality felt overwhelming.
I glanced to my left and noticed a raspberry-red thick-cut glass filled with my long-abandoned pens and pencils, standing atop my equally neglected notebooks.
Seizing the moment, I reached for a pen, opened one of the forgotten notebooks to a fresh page, and wrote, "Hello, dear pages, please help me find my way back." Then I sat quietly, as tears gently fell onto the paper.
Not all, but many life-writing manuscripts involve navigating through difficult emotions—experiences that are profoundly personal and deeply impactful.
As you now know, this was the case for me, which is why I’m beginning from this place.
To my surprise, the emotions that had once silenced me slowly began to spill onto the pages of my journal over the period of several months.
Here’s a glimpse of what surfaced for me:
Grief: The deep sorrow and emotional turmoil that came with the loss of loved ones—my mam, dad, and sister.
Loss: Beyond grieving for loved ones, there was a more pervasive sense of loss—of health, faith, career, relationships, opportunities, and the various versions of myself that once were.
Regret: Moments of reflecting on past choices, the roads taken and not taken, and the lingering 'what-ifs' and 'whys' that had shaped my life.
Anger: Unresolved anger surfaced, whether directed inward or outward, stemming from specific events or a general sense of injustice.
Betrayal: The sting of betrayal, whether from myself or perceived ‘others’, in personal relationships and life circumstances, brought forward emotions I found hard to articulate and even harder to sit with.
Shame: Wrestling with memories tinged with shame required confronting my own judgments and the expectations I held for myself.
Fear: The fear of the unknown, the fear of vulnerability, and the fear of making the same mistakes again weighed heavily.
Loneliness: A profound sense of isolation, especially in moments when I would have turned to my family (my mam, dad, and sister) for counsel and comfort— leaving me feeling abandoned and alone all over again.
Two emotions that unexpectedly surfaced time and again in my early journaling were:
Hope: While hope is often seen as a positive force, I found navigating the space between despair and hope to be challenging. Finding meaning or purpose during difficult times often felt like walking a fine line between holding on to hope and being overwhelmed by despair.
Forgiveness: The journey toward forgiveness—whether of myself or perceived ‘others’—proved to be deeply challenging. Forgiveness requires a willingness to accept what has been and a strong commitment to healing; this is a journey that I am still on.
Whether you find yourself at the early stages of the writing process, as I did in 2022, or deeply immersed in crafting a manuscript for publication, as I am now, memoir writing calls for both courage and a deep commitment to self-care.
Courage: Writing a memoir requires us to be brave because it involves bringing our most intimate moments onto the page. This can mean revisiting old wounds or confronting unexpected emotions, which can be very daunting.
And this is precisely why it's so important to have self-care strategies in place right from the start.
Self-Care: Writerly self-care is a personalized and intentional practice that helps us navigate the emotional ups and downs inherent in any creative process, supporting our mental and emotional well-being along the way.
This might mean having a conversation with a therapist or trusted friend, engaging in activities that bring us joy, establishing a mindfulness routine, or setting boundaries on the intensity and duration of our writing sessions.
Each of these strategies becomes a vital tool, not just for preserving our mental and emotional health, but for allowing us to find joy in the creative writing process too.
Mindful self-care and self-compassion are themes we will continue to explore in future posts, where I’ll share more insights and practical ways to nurture yourself as you undertake your writing projects.
Ultimately, our self-care tools can save us from experiencing emotional and physical exhaustion or triggering any unresolved trauma.
Invitation
In today’s invitation, I encourage you to:
Pause and reflect on your writing practices. Have you consciously incorporated any self-care rituals into your writing sessions?
If you have, take a moment to consider: Are these self-care strategies truly supporting your creativity and well-being? How might you adjust or refine them to better serve you?
If this is the first time you’re thinking about the importance of writerly self-care, make a list of the activities that help you regulate your emotions. Consider how you could weave these practices into or around your writing sessions.
Until next time,
Helen 💛xx
Helen, this post is so resonant with my experience that reading it felt as if I had written it. It feels so good to know I am not alone. Thank you for being so open and generous!
Admiring you, Helen, and appreciative of your expression! Lots to reflect on. Thank you!