Do you journal?

Recently, I was invited to Career Day at Erwin Elementary School in Erwin, NC. I didn't even know our state had an Erwin, although I'm quite familiar with Erwin Road. After driving in the rain for an hour and a half from my home in Durham, I arrived at the school.

The staff in the office ushered me into a big, old library. Immediately, I was glad that I was to be stationed there. One of the things that captured my writer's heart was the cozy nook. What an inviting spot for young readers and even for me, an old reader.

The librarian set my novels on a podium in front of a white board. I barely had time to thank her when the door opened and in came a group of fifth graders. Full of questions, they were attentive. When I asked how many of them journaled, a dozen hands shot up. I was impressed.

Every thirty minutes after that, a new group of students entered and I repeated my spiel about what being a paid writer entails. Each time I asked, to my surprise, there were a number of third, fourth, and fifth graders who admitted to keeping a journal.

As I do with every student I encounter, whether young or old, I encouraged each of them to keep writing and reading.

~*~*~*~

What does journaling do for you?

*Gives you a safe place to write your thoughts
*Allows you to unleash your hurts, worries, and fears
*Teaches you about yourself
*Shows you how you handle your joys and woes
*Helps you solve many of your problems

If you have lost a loved one to death, journaling about your grief is an excellent way to deal with all the tough emotions. Instead of keeping them bottled up, the act of writing them out provides a healthy way to heal.

Whether you use a plain notebook or a fancy book, why don't you enter the world of journaling today?

And if you'd like to explore more writing opportunities and discover what writing can do for you, join us on April 7th for the next Writing the Heartache online workshop.

Discover. What. Writing. Can. Do.

Who's afraid to join us on March 9th? Don't belief the myths. Discover instead, what writing through heartache can open for you!

Recently many have told me, "I always thought I hated to write, but after participating in this writing exercise of yours, Alice, well, I like it now!" Some have even confessed that they want to incorporate writing into their daily routines.

That's what I like to hear!

At my all-day workshops, here's some of what we do:
* Share our stories
* Eat chocolate
* Put pen to paper
* Meet interesting people like us
* Recognize the value in what writing does for us as people with heartache
* Energize our writing as we learn new tips and techniques
* Write from prompts
* Eat lunch
* Shed some tears
* Leave with new inspirations


Sign up for the all-day Journey Through Life's Losses Workshop on March 9th by heading over to this link now.

The Healing Power of the Pen

The first year after a death of a child is like having the
worse noise possible running through your head each
day and night. There is no way to turn the horrendous
sounds off because there is no off button.

I wrote through that noise. I wrote from the heavy bag of
emotions bereaved parents must carry--anger, guilt,
sorrow and confusion, all the "what ifs" and "how comes"
and "whys."

I wrote of longing for a blond-haired boy with blue eyes
who laughter brightened hospital rooms. A quiet spot
under weeping willows at a local park is where I carried
my pen, journal and pain. As I wrote over the course of
many months, I was, although I didn’t realize it at the
time, providing therapy for myself.

Some days when the weather did not permit a trip to the
park and my body and mind harbored excruciating pain,
I shut myself in a room, away from my other children
and husband. I’d grab my journal and let the
experiences of the day and my feelings freely emerge
onto each white page. Grammar didn’t matter,
penmanship went out the window. These aren’t a
concern when you are writing to survive.

Writing the heartache, complete and honest, is a way of
healing. Our cry is, "Help me with this pain!" We find
ourselves lamenting as King David did in Psalm 13:2,
"How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every
day have sorrow in my heart?" David wrote many of his
psalms starting with anger and agony and gradually,
ending with hope.

Writing can do that for us. We enter into our
devastation, get a good grip on what our struggles are
and something about seeing them on paper causes us to
realize the pain is not only within us anymore. It is
shared, even if only on a sheet of notebook paper. It is
documented and the more we write, the better we are
able to understand and deal with our intense sorrow.

Some people think only the creative types write, when in
reality, writing through the pain is available to anyone
who has suffered the loss of a child. "I don’t have time,"
many say. "What will I write?" others wonder. The blank
page scares some because they think they have to fill it
with something profound.

But just writing a memory of your child or a few lines
about how you felt after he died is a notable start. If we
think of writing as a private endeavor and an effective
tool, not a paper to be graded by a high school English
teacher, we will conquer many of the doubts about our
ability. In time, we will see that writing helps us become
better in tune with our feelings and thoughts. It clarifies
our lives and gives us understanding.

Other reasons to take the time to write are:
• To experience personal growth.
• To leave a legacy or a keepsake so that there
will be recordings of what and who our child
was.
• To demonstrate a way of cherishing our child.
• To feel a connection to our child as we
remember the things we shared here on earth.

We also are honoring our grief, our pain and what has
happened to us. We are validating its existence. As
studies have shown, writing is healthy for our minds and
bodies.

Professor James Pennebaker claims that writing
actually helps the physical body when the writer is able
to open up, by sharing deep feelings on paper over a
period of time. In his study, half a group of students at
Southern Methodist University in Dallas, Texas, wrote
their heartfelt thoughts and feelings about a stressful
event from their lives; the other half wrote about
superficial topics. Each group wrote for twenty minutes a
day, for four consecutive days.

Before writing and immediately after writing, blood
pressure and heart rates were tested and a galvanic skin
response was done. Six weeks later, the students had
their blood tested again.

The group that had written about trivial topics showed no
sign of changes. But the group that had poured their
pain onto paper, claimed writing had actually calmed
them. Their skin was drier after writing and both heart
rate and blood pressure had decreased. Their blood
work even showed an increase in lymphocytes, the
white blood cells that work to keep the immune system
healthy.

Writing through the heartache of losing a child is some
of the best therapy I have found on this journey. I didn’t
know how helpful it was. I just knew I needed to
organize any thoughts and get them out on paper. Now,
four years since my four-year-old son Daniel’s death, I
see that when all the evidence is presented, there is no
reason not to write. It causes dim skies to light up when
not only the pain, but also the love and cherished
memories, are recorded.

~ Alice J. Wisler
(Published in the Durham Herald-Sun in April, 2002).

The Daniel Journal

I embraced it; I loathed it. It was a cloth bound book with blue and red swirled flowers on the cover. Inside were the raw words from my heart and soul.

Once it was filled with crisp, lined pages. That was the day it was gifted to me by my three-year-old son Daniel’s oncology nurse. That day it was just a pretty journal. Daniel smiled as I thanked this nurse for her thoughtful present.

Months later, this object contained sentences no one wants to ever write.

Never far from me, I lived for moments when I could take respite from my days to visit with this book. No longer clean and white, it was stained with tears, full of questions, anger, agony, and sorrow.

I’d kept a plaid-covered journal when Daniel was diagnosed with neuroblastoma. That was a journal where hope lined the pages because I was certain that with faith and prayers, chemo, surgeries, and radiation, my son would be cured of his aggressive tumor.

After Daniel’s funeral, I knew that the blue and red journal would never hold hope. Life, as I knew it and wanted, had ended. With Daniel gone, I only wanted the floor to open up and swallow me, taking me away from pain and misery.

The floor never opened. But the journal was there every day, allowing me to deposit whatever I needed onto the numerous pages. I wrote under a weeping willow tree at a local park, at a secluded booth in my favorite coffee shop, at stop lights. I wrote when I was frustrated with those who didn’t care about my brokenness, and when a stranger sent a card to comfort me.

When the pages ran out, I purchased another journal, and then another. I never expected one journal to be able to contain the entire volumes of my heartache.

My journals of the early years after Daniel’s passing sit in a bag in my closet now. I know that at anytime I could open one, and read. Yet, I don’t. Although much stronger now, thanks to my journal-writing, I still don’t want to face that woman who didn’t want to live.

The blue and red journal is more than a journal. This gift I received became a gift to myself and my sanity whenever I opened it to release parts of my torn heart.

While I often hated having a reason to have to write in it, I will always be grateful that it was there for me-never judgmental, never belittling, never preachy. Writing made me a believer that putting pen to paper is one of the best resources we have as humans for healing.

Because as I wrote, this journal provided me with something I didn’t think it ever could or would. Hope.

~ Alice J. Wisler
[Reprinted from Open to Hope and AliceWisler.blogspot.com/]