I have always been writing, since before I could write. I remember as a child holding a pen in my hand and scribbling nonsense on a sheet of paper. In my head, it wasn’t nonsense, but to an observer, it was complete illegible scribbles. Even with those chaotic beginnings, my life changed when I was in the 8th grade. Through this experience with writing, I learned many valuable lessons.
My 8th grade Language Arts teacher, Mrs. Ponder, assigned us a project. That year we were to keep a writing journal. We were to write in it daily. As an adult, I still keep a journal. I don’t write in it nearly as much as I once did, but I do know that in the toughest situations of my life, I have turned to journaling as a way to cope.
Writing can be cathartic. I learned this in the 8th grade. If it hadn’t been for that journal, I don’t think I would’ve survived my 8th grade year of junior high school. My life at home was as much a burden as life at school. My home life was one that was fraught with dysfunction. No one knew what I was enduring at home. I hid it well. School life was one filled with being bullied and ridiculed. They had no idea that I endured similar at home.
Oh, but in my journal, I could rewrite my story. I could change my outcome. I could find ways to deal with what was going on.
As an adult… you can write stories and kill off your characters you don’t like. Seriously.
Writing gives you an outlet to solve problems. Sometimes you can place those problems in fictional situations. Sometimes, you can have characters face the same adversaries and come out on top as better, stronger people. Sometimes you can mirror the truth at the reader and thematically insert a universal lesson for everyone.
My biggest lesson was that I could show the world a better way through writing. I could take my hurt and pain to the page and splay it out raw for my reader, even if that reader was me. It may not soothe the pain, but it could remind me that I could find a better way to cope.
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