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Picking up a writing tool and paper is one of the most nourishing therapies in my life. I could spend lots of money seeking a professional to help me work out my inner strife. My writing is varied and the words compel me to carry on the fluid motion of emotion onto paper. There have been times I have written three words and times I have written many pages. The writing outcome is healing, whether I was angry or happy in the end I have expressed myself. I took on journal writing around the age of nine. I had a lot of things going on at the time and writing my thoughts seemed to help. As I have grown over the years and witnessed the seasons of my life, I can look back to my journals for guidance and reassurance. There have been times I felt like I could breathe no more, the pain suffocating and making void any light that was in my heart. There have been times that I have felt rage like a hurricane over the sea, brewing, thrashing and furious. My parents always guided me towards writing before I speak. This allows me to gather what really needs to be said, it also allows the emotion to be spent in the proper place. I have been the fool who spoke the words that have damaged the heart. Sitting there like a clown, feeling shallow in myself.

Writing is a constructive way to view and create an image of ones self. The lessons I have learned in my life are written on the pages in many journals on my bookshelf. I have learned to be humble, I have learned to be strong, and I have learned the power of inner reflection. When I write I may not have a clear direction and regardless of how the page starts there is clarity in the ending. The powerful connection of the inner heart and mind find purpose on those sheets of paper. I am notorious for writing people letters that they will never get. I have found that I have a thick pride, and I may feel wounded when it is bruised. I write directly to the person that caused that suffering and in the end find comfort in knowing, they really love me and I needed to hear the truth.

The healing comforts of my pen and paper will carry on like a torch in the night, guiding me to the end of the tunnel. I can cry, I can hate, I can laugh, and I can smile; the paper does not judge, and it openly listens to me. I have encouraged my child to write, he is young and most of the time he draws pictures. Yet in the confines of his paper, I get to see what he really needs and how he really feels. The truth often unveils itself and the confused ideas that run through his head make sense. His journal also is a place he has learned that in confidence no matter what he writes it will believe. His journal will not judge him and he is free to tell his stories and write out his fears. It has also given him self reflection to do what is right. After all our personal writing is a reflection of our healing self and a pathway to where we want to be.

Learn more about this author, Brandy Myers.
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