I feel a huge cry coming on, but for once, I'm not gonna fight it.
Welcome to my real-time exercise in expressive writing.
It’s Sunday morning, the sun is shining, and all of my needs are met. I have a loving family and loyal friends, a roof over my head, work that I love, food in my belly (and more in the fridge for later), access to healthcare and mental health professionals, and a set of skills I get to share with others.
And yet, at this moment, I feel a huge cry coming on, but for once, I’m not going to fight it.
I’m not going to let myself swim back up to that first paragraph of gratitude (as I often do) or remind myself how fortunate I am (because I truly and sincerely already know).
I’m not going to let myself bob on the surface of my feelings, dismissing the distress I’m feeling.
Instead, I’m allowing myself to submerge. I’m facing the undertow of my sadness head-on since it’s already leaking into so many corners of my otherwise stable existence. And, I’m going to give this sadness some language.
If there’s anything I’ve learned from teaching Write to Heal workshops, it’s that treading the waters of life’s difficult experiences only depletes our reserves. If we hope to heal, we have to dive deep. The good news is, this needn’t take a lot of time (maybe 15-20 minutes).
Okay, I’ll set a timer. Here goes nothing.
Expressive Writing In Action
Right now, I’m feeling weak and scared.
A week or so ago, when I felt a very similar wave of overwhelm, I texted a dear friend. I didn’t even know what I needed her (or anyone else) to do. All I knew was that I was hurting inside. Here’s one of the things I wrote to her:
“It’s to the point where I don’t even know how to prioritize or ask for help. I feel like I’m shutting down and feeling paralyzed by everything, which is NOT where I want to be.”
Her reply was immediate:
Sending her that text felt like sending up a flare. Her response didn’t feel like I’d been thrown a life raft; it felt like my flare was seen. It’s almost as if she said, “You’ve got this, hold tight, I’m with you.”
Our exchange served as proof that it’s okay not to rush to fix something. It’s enough to simply say, “I’m struggling.” As soon as I put my feelings into words and shared them, I began to feel less alone — and even a little better.
And now, a week or so later, those overwhelming feelings have returned with a vengeance, crashing like invisible waves. The difference is, now that I have a friend in my corner, I feel more ready to take another important step: To explore my feelings in writing. The easiest way I know how to do this is to start asking myself questions.
Am I feeling low…
…because the world feels so heavily, confoundingly fragile?
…because I might be getting sick?’
…because I have too much on my plate?
…because grief is silently, stealthily creeping in?
…because I have less serotonin in my system than others, or faulty neurotransmitters, or a genetic profile that sometimes works against me?
…because seasonal affective disorder often wreaks havoc on my moods?
…because I’m not getting enough sleep/exercise/fresh air?
…because someone is demanding I keep a painful secret?
…because imposter syndrome is knocking?
Though it’s frustrating when I don’t have all the answers, I do feel empowered when I ask questions. Rather than floating on the surface of my pain, I’m taking action. I’m intentionally wading in, exploring the possible reasons why I’m feeling distressed.
When I feel low or weak, the act of asking myself questions can feel courageous.
In my work with Dr. James Pennebaker, the pioneer of expressive writing, I’ve learned that turning distressful feelings into language — rather than holding those feelings inside — creates positive, healing shifts in mood, physiology, and outlook.
When I facilitate my Write to Heal retreats and workshops, I encourage attendees to look below the surface of their feelings. I teach ways to safely navigate the murky waters of anguish, discomfort, shame, sorrow, worry, and heartache. Perhaps the biggest problem is that we can’t predict when difficult feelings will appear.
Today is proof of this. I’m not yet clear why I’ve felt low these past couple of weeks, but I do. AND, I’m using skills to understand and address my melancholy.
I know I *could* practice gratitude and focus on all the good in my life (and I do).
I know I *could* WILL myself to be grateful and happy and optimistic and upbeat (which I’ve done more times than I can describe).
I know I *could* keep my feelings to myself (and, in the past, I have).
I know I *could* remind myself that “this too shall pass” (because it often does).
All those things *could* be very helpful…and yet…they don’t get to the root of my current state.
And so, I sit here on this sunny Sunday afternoon, letting the tears fall as I pose one more question:
Could it be that my body is simply aching for a cleansing, restorative cry?
Prompt
During times when you feel low, how would you describe the feelings? In what ways have you tried to pull yourself out of a slump? What’s worked? What hasn’t?
Christine Wolf is a writer, memoir writing coach, and speaker. With a Master of Arts in Teaching (MAT) and firsthand experience in CBT, DBT, and EMDR, Wolf helps clients shape and polish their memoirs and personal essays using a compassionate, trauma-informed approach and expressive writing techniques. Wolf is the Founder and CEO of Writers’ Haven, LLC, a writing consultancy and cooperative workspace for women writers. A former columnist for the Chicago Tribune, Wolf’s writing has also been featured in the Chicago Sun-Times, Runner’s World, and ChicagoNow, as well as on CNN, HuffPost Live, and others. A seasoned professional storyteller, Wolf was named a Moth StorySLAM champion in 2022. Wolf co-authored the dual biography Politics, Partnerships, & Power and is currently at work on a memoir of her own. www.christinewolf.com/testimonials
Here’s a theory about growth spurts: that when children approach their full or half birthdays their behavior turns upside down. It’s almost like they *feel* a storm coming (getting older, more transitions etc) but they cannot see the clouds forming, the sky darkening etc. Their response can be out of whack behavior, difficulty sleeping, etc. Then, once they reach that birthday or half birthday, they go back to being themselves again. This makes so much sense for children, but I think it makes sense for adults too. I think our deeper senses can tell when change is going to happen even, when we can’t see the telltale signs. What you’ve described - allowing yourself to submerge - while difficult or even painful, sounds like the best way to get through to the other side. Maybe it’s a change coming, maybe it’s growth, or another type of transformation. Perhaps by submerging, and giving it language, the process will not only see you through but may also be profoundly informative. And you can *always* reach out to a good friend who will always make sure your signal, your flare for help, will be seen and heard ❤️❤️
I've been dancing with frustration for a month. It started on Feb. 1st with a positive COVID test and all the symptoms except lung congestion, thank God! I was so grateful to escape that complication that my good mood prevailed in spite of the chills, fever, horrible fatigue, and losing my sense of taste and smell. Then on the 10th (my 75th birthday!) just as I was starting to recover, I woke up with a sinus infection and tooth pain so unbearable I went to the ER seeking drugs. They put me on an antibiotic, which cured my infection after 10 days while playing havoc with my digestive system. What my doctor called "post covid constellation of idiopathic symptoms" (including killer fatigue and cough-without-lung-involvement) continued to lay me low. Then on the 29th I said, "Only one more day and the evil month of February will be over. What else could possibly happen?" Two hours later I was at my optometrist with what he feared was a detached retina from coughing fits. Turns out it was an optical migraine instead. I was instructed to eliminate stress as much as possible. I'M TRYING! I've maintained my sense of humor through this entire ordeal, but today it ran out.
I haven't written a single word on my manuscript for an entire month, which means all my target dates are pushed back. That's what finally tipped me over, and today I cried. I'm grieving the loss of 30 days of writing. And I still haven't celebrated my birthday.
LIke you, Christine, I have everything to be grateful for - the fact that I've survived till my 75th birthday and have a story to write, for starters. Plus all the love and support a person could wish for. I'm known for my plucky personality, resilience, and optimism. But today it was just TOO MUCH.
Thanks for creating a space where I could put this all in writing without burdening anyone :)