I didn't think writing would help me until it did.
When I felt like my brain was about to explode I grabbed a pen and poured myself on to the page. I filled it to the brim with emotion and all the words that needed to be said. I wrote and wrote and wrote. And as I wrote I felt lighter. As if each word was a tear drop being removed from my eye and given a new home in the pages.
Every letter easing my soul and letting it rest. Everything channelled into the lines of my notebook.
I allowed myself to be vulnerable: to let my heart spill out and release all the pain. It emptied out all of the broken pieces. Writing made me weak. The weakest I've ever been. Each sentence raw and unedited. Filters removed and guard down.
Perhaps ironically I found my strength through it. The words I have woven have wrapped around me, becoming my shield. I let myself be broken then I put myself back together.
I'd encourage every single one of you that related to my words to write. Even if it doesn't make sense, just write.
Empty the words from your head, close the book and take a deep breath.
You are free.
YOU ARE READING
Words from a grieving heart.
Non-FictionIn July 2017 I lost my uncle. It was my first time experiencing grief and I didn't (still don't) really know how to handle it. It was at my lowest moment that I picked up a notebook and pen and began to write. I wrote everything from letters to poem...
