Journaling was never my thing. I would buy a pretty journal with great intentions of writing in it regularly. I would write in it daily for a week or two, then forget for a few days, and then forget about it altogether. When I started writing to process some emotions about my mother and my relationship with her, my journal writing was meant to be a brief and cathartic exercise. Surprisingly, when I began writing, the words just flowed out of me. And suddenly, I was writing every day. My mother died in 2018. We hadn’t spoken in years, and I learned about her death in a voicemail from a friend of hers whom I did not know. I felt so many emotions—sadness, anger, regret, relief, and guilt. I felt guilty for being relieved. I asked myself a lot of questions: How could I be relieved? She was my mother. Why wasn’t I more upset? Why had our estrangement developed? What should I have done differently? What now? Even though we had cut contact, I still felt sad and empty saying, “My mother is dead.” Many memories surfaced as I was writing. There were plenty of excellent memories, but also an abundance of painful ones. The feelings I had long suppressed from some distressing childhood events (what would now be called ‘Adverse Childhood Experiences’) also came to the surface, and the stories flowed effortlessly, albeit painfully, from my brain to the paper. Through my writing, I could reflect on my past from a new perspective, through the lens of a more mature, emotionally intelligent adult. What is the saying? “Retrospection is always 20-20.” But the more I delved into my past, the muddier it seemed to be. I never considered myself a good writer. In fact, writing essays and papers in high school and college was arduous for me. I loved doing the research, but synthesizing the information and putting it down on paper was difficult, and I would procrastinate until the last minute. Because of my procrastination, I was always scrambling to finish on time, and I developed […]
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