My Favorite Tool for Healing
The use of writing prompts offers us opportunities to process our grief. Grief is a stagnant energy that needs a nudge; and a few moments of writing will do just that. Setting aside time for reflection can help us avoid getting stuck. Writing helps us steady ourselves, gain perspective, and shift our thinking. It is a form of mindfulness that is attributed to increasing neuroplasticity (rewiring our brain in a new direction).
Writing is always available, free, and does not require any skill or talent. When you write from the heart without filters or concerns of judgment, your words will carry the power of honesty. This can help you clarify your current state, your needs, and your goals. Writing is a form of therapy and a gift to yourself. So open the windows and doors, and let some fresh air in!
You can find grief writing prompts on the internet, and I will provide more examples in the coming weeks, but the truth is, anything can serve as a prompt. Everyday household items can stir up associations and memories. I have collected some wonderfully healing stories from unlikely objects: a toaster, a pipe, a tube of lipstick, a lighter, a can of spam, a musty old Reader’s Digest. Photographs also work well.
The photograph for this post was captured on an early morning walk two years ago. At the time it evoked a sadness and a yearning for reconnection with someone who had passed. The acknowledgment of my sadness and my questions set these feelings free and I felt lighter within hours. Here was my response:
This morning’s fog hung like a soft, sheer curtain, felt like comfort but also like obscurity and deep, aching echoes. “Where are you now?” I asked, but also, “Where am I?” Your passing has dislodged me.
Grief placed me in a new land, unknown and yet familiar all at once. I wasn’t exactly lost, nor was I fully here. I had one foot in two worlds, feeling like a nomad who belongs nowhere and yet anywhere.
Do I still belong here? You once belonged here, and then you didn’t. Will that happen to me as well? And when I leave will you be there, wherever there is? Will there be fog there too? Will I be able to find you?
Perhaps I’ll stay and rest here for a while, in this dewy cocoon. I trust that people won’t come out in this weather. I can count on some respite, some time, some solitude. For the moment it’s just me and the crows that caw from the high tree tops. I heard some geese honking far above. I couldn’t see them through the fog but could picture them in my mind’s eye. Maybe it’s true of you too. It is hard to be left with just my imagination. Will you honk for me?