Writing always helped me cope.

When putting words in a piece of paper defined so much more of what I was feeling,than what I ever said or could’ve possibly said. I struggled to use my voice in any other way. It’s like the ink was screaming louder than my throat. It helped me heal in ways I didn’t think possible. A sense of relief that even if no one else was listening, I found who I am in a long-winded text.

I saw myself grow in those sheets of paper. It put into sentences what I felt in the lowest and highest points of my life. Letters of growth, happiness, and passion. She grew stronger through it. Held higher by the thoughts and emotions hidden within. More powerful than the silence. More peaceful than the chaos around.

She trusted its capabilities. It gave her a reason to trust something after all the heartbreaks, losses, and pain. She rose above her darkness. She claimed the opportunities. She even conquered her life. It empowered her to become somebody. Someone she could be proud of outside her four-walled bedroom.

A binded notebook filled with pages of who she is. The woman not everyone saw. She wasn’t a little girl anymore.

That’s what writing does. It changes you. It gives you a chance to uncover the shadows and depths of your psyche. It allows you to feel deeply without judgment. It’s a friend. It’s a quiet voice that held so much power.

It teaches you that you’re in control of your own life — actions, emotions, feelings, and perspective.

It’s there for you. Beyond all the loneliness.

@wordsbymaple, The Writer