Why Writing Is Therapeutic

Why Writing Is Therapeutic

Some emotions do not find solace in words. Over the years, I have come to realise why writing is therapeutic in a way that nothing else ever has been for me.

When I first began my WordPress blog several years ago, I titled it Anecdotes of My Life. The title of my blog was not a marketing choice. It was a statement in itself. I required a platform where I could put emotions that had nowhere else to go. There was no one to talk to. Not all emotions can be discussed over cups of tea. Not all aches can be accommodated in polite conversation. So I turned to the page. And the page held everything.

Every time I wrote and published, I felt a softening in me. I was not looking for approval. I was looking for a way out. As soon as an emotion found expression, it no longer felt like a maelstrom in my head. It felt like something that was contained. Writing was giving form to something that would otherwise be formless. This was my first lesson in why writing is therapeutic.

Thinking Through My Fingers

If I had to define writing in the simplest terms possible, I would say this:

Writing is like thinking through my fingers. When I am thinking, my thoughts are all over the place. But as I type, my thoughts begin to fall into line. When I am feeling something, it feels like it’s swallowing me whole. But as I write, my emotions shrink down to a manageable size. I never start with clarity in mind. But clarity usually hits me about halfway through a sentence. The process of writing is one of discovery.

The page doesn’t hurry me, doesn’t interrupt me or call me out on my inconsistencies or vulnerabilities. The page just waits. And in that waiting, I find truth.

Stories Hidden Inside Recipes and Journeys

Even my recipes are never just recipes. They hold memories of my parents, whispers of childhood kitchens, and small domestic moments that formed me. Maybe that is why readers tell me they feel a connection. They are not reading instructions alone. They are entering a lived experience.

My travel writing holds the same rhythm. I do not write about destinations alone. I write about what those destinations stirred in me. Landscapes become reflections. Roads become metaphors. I have always written from the heart

Writing has never been something outside my life. It has been the silent thread weaving it all together.

The Challenge I Once Left Unfinished

Last year, I joined the #writeapageaday challenge. The challenge was simple but tough: write every day and reach 10,000 words.

I started with passion. I wrote every day, but I forgot to add the numbers. The number lingered with me. Not as a reminder of guilt but as a reminder of unfinished business. I knew I had stopped before I had really challenged myself.

This year, I joined again. I turned the challenge into an A-Z journey, determined to answer every call. In the beginning, there were times when I sat in front of the screen, wondering what to write. Instead of waiting for the muse to strike, I decided to move. I started writing before I felt confident.

There were times when writing every day felt like a burden. There were three days of travel when exhaustion could easily have been an excuse to skip. But I did not.

Every letter. Every assignment. And slowly, steadily, the words piled up. This time, I’m certain I passed the 10,000-word threshold.

It was more than a number. It was a symbol of discipline. Of dedication. Of the understanding that showing up is more important than waiting for the perfect conditions.

Writing About Those Who Live Inside My Stories

Some of the entries demanded emotional strength. Writing about my mom and dad filled me with gratitude, longing, and quiet admiration. Their impact is imprinted on me. Putting that into words was a privilege.

Writing about my daughter and my grandsons filled me with nostalgia and happiness. Watching life unfold through them inspires me. To put that impact into words deepened my appreciation. Those pages made me soft. But they also made me whole. Writing was a way for love to manifest itself.

When One Chapter Closed, Another Opened

In 2019, the online newspaper I wrote for ceased operations. I had written many articles for them; writing was not sporadic; it was a beat.

When that publication ceased, I thought my freelance writing career was over. I accepted it quietly and moved on. But life doesn’t always close a door; it opens another.

Yesterday, I received a call from the publisher and editor. He asked me to write again. I have been asked to write a feature article about travel. What I thought was finished has come back gently. This is a reminder of something important. What is yours does not disappear. It waits.

The Therapeutic Power of Writing Daily

Writing every day builds more than a habit. It builds inner calm.

When I write, loneliness disappears. Restlessness finds purpose. Confusion turns to clarity. Writing brings companionship without noise.

In times of change, through changing roles and changing responsibilities, writing has been a constant. It has been my witness.

The #writeapageaday journey started as a discipline. It became a reaffirmation.

What Writing Ultimately Gives Me

Writing gives me comfort when silence feels like a weight.

It gives me joy without praise, puts me in line with myself. It gives me perspective when my emotions are out of balance.

Most of all, writing gives me continuity.

In times of daughterhood, motherhood, grandmotherhood, professional downtime, and new starts, writing has been my steady, quiet companion.

The question of why writing is therapeutic is no longer one for me. It is a reality.

When all else shifts, the page is steady. And when I write, I am steady too.