Writing my way from threat to comfort

There is something about writing that comforts me, and then something about potentially sharing it that makes that comfort feel like a threat. I’ve wrestled with this over the last few months as I’ve tried to create a consistent rhythm of contributing to this website.

Writing is not the issue. I’ve actually written every day for almost a year and it’s been wonderful. It started with the intention to embrace the present and teach myself it’s safe to fully feel my feelings and fully think my thoughts. Unlike therapy, hanging out with friends, scrolling through social media, or getting lost in work, it’s not possible (at least for me) to write without being fully present. The more I’ve consistently created the space for this safety, the more it integrated with my mindfulness practice and the more the present became my most natural home. Writing has became one of my favourite ways to observe, document, and appreciate the fleeting moments as they continuously change and pass.

I’ve filled three notebooks and counting in less than a year. If you’d asked me a year ago I would have never imagined this. The concept of daily journaling seemed intimidating at first. Before I ever wrote the first line in my notebook, I already had expectations. I wanted my writing to be important and for my thoughts to be profound. My writing needed to be relevant, interesting, and worthy of being noted down. And most intimidating of all, I believed I should only write if I had enough valuable stuff to say to fill an entire page. With these swirling thoughts and internal expectations, I was overwhelmed with what I thought were the only answers I needed –all the ways I would fail. But the truth is I came to these conclusions without ever asking myself a single good question and without ever trying.

I thought these expectations were my demons and I spent so much time fighting them that it delayed my start. It wasn’t until I decided to embrace them, rather than fight them, that the writing process began and my thoughts began to flow. I decided to explore each of those beliefs and gave myself permission to challenge any new ones that came up. If I wanted to be important, who got to determine what did and didn’t fit the mould? If I wanted to be profound, what was I trying to say about the world? If blank space meant wasted pages, who do I think made up that rule, who does it benefit, and how do I feel about supporting it? Exploring how I arrived to each moment and using writing to do it, broke the system and I realized it was up to me to break it.

I learned I am profound, I am important, relevant, interesting, and more, because I get to make the terms and according to my rules, I am what I say I am. And if I decide I’m not, I’m still proud to be the version of me, on my way to getting there. I learned how powerful it is to embrace my perceptions of other people’s expectations and also to allow myself to grow. This means every fear can be a part of the solution rather than the problem.

In the safety of my notebooks there is no judgement, no filter, no backspace or spell check. It’s raw and honest, and safe because I’ve made it so. I know I can write, and I’m finally starting to trust myself more, but this digital space is new and scary all over again. It’s taken me a few weeks of wrestling but I’m finally back at this familiar beginning, choosing to embrace the new risks as a means to help me build some safety and flow with my writing. This time, for all the world to see and share.

I’m clearly still learning and perfecting this process of turning my fears into my medicine so thank you for allowing me to have the space to try, and fail, and try again. Writing is my process and I’m so happy I’ve learned to embrace it and everything that comes with it. I wish you a new friendship with the resistance in your life, and a new journey to rewiring your threats into your comforts.