Hurts So Good: Embracing the Paradox of Healing Through Writing

Most creatives understand that the more we confront our pain, the quicker we heal. The more we share our stories — via splattered across a canvas, strobing from a digitized screen, or collected on a novel page — the less our pain holds us captive.

Artists know that the road from trauma to transformation is marred by a series of pothole paradoxes we embrace as part of the muse. However, it took me a long time to understand that last part.

I confess I’m a recovering ‘Drama-Mama’ (insert full-body cringe here). I
used to saunter around like a gunslinger from the Wild West, quick on the draw and with an itchy trigger finger, ready to disburse my past childhood traumas on unsuspecting townsfolk — Bam! Bam! Bam!

I don’t know why I did it. In a world that encourages us to bury our darkest
moments, I not only recovered mine with a pickaxe, but I vocalized it as a
means of finding solace and normalization. Obviously, it was as soothing as a megaphone.

Later, I went in the opposite direction and pendulum-ed to the other
extreme. I would shroud my past in ironclad silence, ricocheting any personal queries (good or bad) with the skill of Wonder Woman donning her bracelets. Deflect! Deflect! Deflect!

I became an expert at emotional evasion, cultivating an armor of nonchalance and speaking fluent sarcasm instead of admitting any true feelings. For some reason, I preferred to drum to the rhythm of a flatline than to an actual beat, dampening the intensity of life — joy, sorrow, excitement — in a climax as resounding as a thud.

It wasn’t until a torrential outpour of grief in August of 2021 that I
realized the cost of this emotional mummification. I had bludgeoned almost all authentic connections with others and myself. I had to change.

In my quest for self-discovery, I went from blame to shame and overly tame, which amounted to writing that mirrored my emotional landscape — safe but devoid of all life — just like me. I had to forge a new path, cut a new trail in the barbs of failures, and become the person I wanted, no, needed to be.

Little by little, I emerged through the thorny thickets with a loud laugh
here or a trickling tear down my cheek there. Each emotion, whether joy or
pain, became a color I used to paint my narratives, adding depth and resonance to my words. It was hard and painful, but it’s been worth it.

My writing has become a reflection of my evolving renaissance. To my
surprise, sharing these genuine emotions has not weakened me. Instead, they are my strength, a way to discover my authentic voice and to connect with people.

In my trek from silence to song, elimination to enlightenment, I have
unearthed a fundamental truth — stories hold power, and vulnerabilities are not liabilities but lighthouses guiding us toward a more profound connection with ourselves and others.

The beauty of this journey lies not in reaching a destination of emotional
perfection but in embracing the whole human experience. This is the ink in your pen, the chords in your song, and the palette for your canvas.

Whether you’re a writer, an artist, or simply a soul navigating the
complexities of life, honor your feelings. They are your strongest allies and
give you a glimpse into who you really are!