WRITING AS THERAPY

Let’s get one thing out of the way real quick: writing as therapy works for people who don’t write for a living. For those of us who have been involved in the writing of essays or articles or books, it doesn’t. It’s one of the most excruciating experiences a person can come across.

Like many creative tasks, writing requires a discipline that doesn’t reward the effort, no matter how well it’s executed. What’s worse, it gets more complex as you write more. Writing resembles life in that it doesn’t get any easier, no matter how much you do it. It gets harder to do. As you write your life away you become aware of all your shortcomings in a paragraph. Sometimes those shortcomings can be sweet to the eyes of a reader and sometimes they’re just that: flaws. And no, flaws are NOT cool. No matter how much you try to turn them into a badge of pride. So there’s a humility in writing that is hard to apply to everyday life and to its exercise. And it hurts. It hurts like nothing else you can imagine.

Writing is also not about talent, it’s about execution. It’s about putting words in front of other words in an orderly manner, which is a daunting and meticulous task. Yes, many people keep a journal to release things they have in their minds and in their souls and if that’s your case and you feel like that takes a weight off your shoulders, more power to you.

I myself have kept journals during a great deal of my life. None of those writings have helped me be a better person and none of them have helped me forgive myself or others. In fact, reading what I write – especially over the past few months – only deepens the wounds. It isn’t something particularly healing or satisfying: it’s just another compulsory behavior. But I understand how it can be seen as a beautiful one, if it is to be read by others.

Writing isn’t therapeutical. It takes courage in times of hardship, it requires rigor in times of slacking, and it never helps you scar. If anything, it just keeps reminding you why the scars are there.