In 1986, a groundbreaking study asked college students to write about their most difficult emotions. The results were surprising: expressive writing helped reduce anxiety, process trauma, and even improve immune function.
For me, expressive writing became more than a helpful tool—it became a lifeline. Here’s what that looked like.
Living with a Mood Disorder
I’ve lived with a mood disorder for as long as I can remember. There have been seasons of deep depression that colored every part of my life—and, in ways I wish they hadn’t, affected the people I love.
During these times, even the simplest tasks felt overwhelming. Getting up and getting dressed became complicated by fatigue, anxiety, and fear. Fear of what others would think, because I no longer recognized myself. I felt like a shell of who I used to be.
Why I Started Writing
Anxiety and hopelessness became constant companions. At first, I started journaling just to occupy my mind. But as I wrote, I noticed small changes in how I viewed things—and in how I felt.
I made myself write every day, even when I didn’t want to—usually at the same time each day. Without realizing it, I was practicing what’s called behavioral activation—a strategy where committing to small, scheduled actions can disrupt the cycle of depression. After journaling, I often felt just enough motivation to get up and do something.
Sometimes I pushed myself to write for one or two hours. As I began to improve, I wrote even longer, driven by the desire to feel better.
Journaling Through the Mess
Looking back at journals from 15 years ago, I see pages filled with poor handwriting, jumbled thoughts, and half-unreadable words. That messiness mirrored how life felt. My thoughts were scattered like paint flung onto a canvas.
Ironically, the times I least wanted to write were when I needed it most. As I poured my thoughts onto the page, the chaos began to take shape. The pieces became clearer—and I could start to see that my problems were not insurmountable.
Writing Helped Me Heal
Journaling helped me become more effective in therapy. I no longer saw my mind as chaos; I saw problems—tangible and specific ones. Seeing them didn’t solve them, but it made them easier to face. And in facing them, I began to believe I had a future.
Writing became a way to sort through the mess and find clarity. Even with my academic background, there was a time when depression made my writing almost unintelligible. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting the feelings out—giving shape to what felt impossible to hold inside.
As I wrote about the pain and the situations that caused it, I began to understand: I wasn’t broken. I was human—responding to difficult circumstances in a deeply human way.
Finding My Way Back to the World
Eventually, I started to move again. I wanted to shower. I wanted to go out. I wanted to rejoin the world I had stepped away from.
Choosing to write was a way of choosing to respond, instead of being consumed. That act—small as it was—created space. Space to breathe, to reflect, to notice what was really going on beneath the surface.
That distance, even if tiny at first, was the beginning of healing.
The Message I Want to Share
I think the phrase “When life is messy—start writing” says it best.
When you acknowledge the chaos and still take action, something shifts. Sometimes you have to act as if—as if the writing will help, even if it doesn’t feel like it in the moment.
So yes, life is messy. But you don’t have to wait until it’s neat to start healing.
Open a notebook. Find a scrap of paper. Write—even if it’s just a scribble.
The scribble will become words.
The words will name your feelings.
And when feelings have a name, they begin to change you.
