It’s hard to remember a time when writing in some fashion wasn’t part of how I process the world and my place in it. When moving recently, I came across a box full of journals from various points in time and it was fascinating how much my writing and my processing has changed over the years. No, I’m not keeping those journals around for someone else to read them — some things do need to remain mysterious and my inner world should probably stay private to me.
While reading through my journals, I realized and noticed patterns. As a trauma or struggle happened, I wrote much more frequently and at greater length. When life was smoother and there weren’t incidents of crisis, the entries were fewer and slightly less verbose. Instinctively, when life became difficult or a decision needed to be made or there was a major change, I returned…
View original post 532 more words