Why A Blank Page Is The Perfect Therapist
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I am not in a good way right now. My social anxiety is through the roof, I am struggling to look people in the eye, and I am having panic attacks while shopping. I find myself staring at a blank wall, for minutes on end, attempting to decompress from even the most mundane interactions or setbacks.
I keep trying to remind myself that we are in unprecedented times, and that extended lockdowns, Covid-19, and the general state of the world will be a compounding factor on my mental state.
When overly emotional I find that this kind of logic helps. But logic isn’t enough. An outlet is needed. A way to investigate, feel and express what is going on in my mind. A way to accept and let go. Something to relieve the pressure so that I don’t have to spend so much time attempting to replenish my already compromised supply of spoons.
So, I write poetry.
The creative process is cathartic. Whether or not a poem comes from the session isn’t important, because it is the act of writing itself that is healing.
First I just sit in silence, inviting in whatever wants to come. Then I take some time to ‘turn and face’ it. I let the emotions, moods, memories, and thoughts come and show themselves. Rather than running from them, I lean into them and give them space.
Sometimes this is enough; having been ‘seen,’ the troubling thoughts simply leave. But when they don’t, I get writing.
My style of poetry is free flowing. I make no attempt to stick to a form or style, rather I allow the form and style to reveal itself as a part of the writing. Sometimes it rhymes, sometimes it flows, sometimes it’s a story, sometimes it’s just a loose string of connected words.
When I am writing, I am not editing. I am just letting the words come onto the page as they come. Then, at some point, I start to see the form that the poem wants to take. I start to play with its structure, the flow, and the word choices. I tweak the grammar to ensure that it sounds right, and I make sure that it looks how I want it to look – or rather how it wants to look.
I am a believer in the Muse. A creative entity that guides artists in their work. When I get into a state of creative flow, it is almost as if the Muse is writing through me, and it’s my job to simply get out of the way. Or as if the poem is already written, and its my job to uncover it – like how an archaeologist attempts to uncover a hidden, but already existing, treasure.
Eventually, the Muse leaves and the poem is mostly complete. At this stage, the writing has done its job. I have processed the emotions, and the act of writing in a flow state (connecting with the Muse) has done its own healing work.
Editing poetry is a different process entirely, but it can be equally rewarding. I take the poem I wrote for myself, and then tweak it to best express the emotionality that it is alluding to. I will cut out superfluous words and make minute tweaks to best express what I now see the poem wants to express. This microscopic focus provides a further distraction from mental turmoil.
Finally, I share my poem with the world. Sometimes my writing receives little more than a couple of likes. Other times I get emotional and personal messages talking about how it is expressing something that the reader has yet to be able to put into words themselves. Either option is fine, but I love the latter. My hope is that by expressing and sharing my inner world, I will encourage people to do the same. That they will experience the healing benefits of reading poetry, and perhaps consider writing themselves.
I know just how lonely mental illness can feel. It is truly invisible. This can make us feel invisible in turn. How validating is it to discover that we are not alone and that others are having the same kinds of thoughts that we are, and the same kinds of struggles?
Of course, you can get this kind of validation from friends, family, support groups, and professional supports, and I encourage you to use those options where and whenever possible. But writing offers something unique:
The page listens, it doesn’t judge, and it is always available. It has the perfect memory when you want it too and can be discarded easily. Its feelings cannot be hurt, and it won’t say anything unexpected.
Put another way, it is the perfect therapist.
Here is an example of one of my poems. I wrote it following a minor breakdown of sorts. I felt overwhelmed, on the verge of self-harming, drug use, and other less than ideal coping strategies. Instead, I chose to write, and it helped. I wasn’t fixed, but at least I was no longer standing on the precipice.
In The Predawn Light
In the predawn light
the birds take flight,
taking with them
the silence of the night.
The lone dog’s bark
heralds the end of dark,
as his fellows
take up the lark.
Then comes humanity.
A din of utter profanity.
Attempting to avoid
silence induced insanity.
Until shines the moon,
bringing its silent boon.
Causing man’s return
to sleep’s blessed lagoon.
Then the nightmares come.
A calamitous thrum,
highlighting the pain
of yesterday’s sum.
The night’s confidence shaken,
peaceful sleep mistaken.
Silence only exists
at night when we awaken.
In the predawn light
the birds take flight,
taking with them
the silence of the night.
The act of writing heals, give it a try. It could be the medium of expression you need. I have a 10-day course on Insight Timer and another on Skillshare, where I go in depth on the creative writing process, sharing some of my work and guiding students through their own. If you think that is for you, give it a try. You can also check out my latest poetry pieces here.
I just want to make it clear though, you do not need to share your writing. Not at all. Some people write for themselves, and then ritualistically burn, burry or flush the page; a symbolic letting go of whatever trauma their words expressed.
The act of writing heals, give it a try.
