I find as I commit to write more that writing is my healing. I never considered it in this way before. I thought that I’d start a blog because “I like to write,” and writing seemed like a useful tool to convey information in a way that gets my viewpoint across. Yet, I never considered that the mere flow of the words on a page, finding the exact right word that fits each second in time could be an exercise in healing.
You see a page is a blank field. There is nothing there in the beginning. The battle begins when the first word emerges. Was that what I wished to say? Is that exactly the right way to convey it? This battle often heats up when I have a plan in mind. When my analytical left brain thinks it knows what I’m supposed to say or supposed to write about, it somehow ends up jumbled up, not emerging exactly as planned.
And I fight it. I fight the very flow the page is inviting me into.
You see, I’m learning that each blank page and each moment in time seem to have a specific mandate. A specific thing is wanting to be said. And this specific thing may be very different from what I think I’m wanting to say. Perhaps this thing is emerging from my right brain, the intuitive, emotional side of myself, from which creativity seems to spring unbidden.