Express yourself! Pick up your pen!

If you see someone with an opened notebook and pen in deep thought, you might think he or she is writing the next great novel. But the truth could be, the person is writing for health.

Writing for health? What does that mean?

When we suffer a loss --- either the death of a loved one, a broken relationship, a firing from a job, a financial crisis, or a diagnosis that is difficult --- our minds and bodies are affected. We often cry and want comfort.

As the situation continues, we look for ways to help us cope with the magnitude of our loss. We can feel isolated because no one understands the full picture of what we are going through. There are times we don't understand it all either. Our grief is unique and we are new to it. We know we have to manuever through, but how is this done? Our days feel sad and desperate.

This is when writing enters the scene.

Writing is a healthy way to unleash pent-up angry, sadness, and other emotions friends, family, and coworkers might not care to hear. The emotions have to go somewhere, and putting them onto paper is a lot healthier than yelling, slamming the door, or kicking the cat.

When we write about the heartaches, the pain flows from our hearts onto paper. This eases the anguish, even if only for a while. We've shared our emotions and ponderings with paper. The paper carries a portion of our sorrow for us.

Studies have shown the beneftis of writing for health. Dr. James Pennebaker conducted a study among students at the University of Texas that proved expressive writing lowers blood pressure, pulse rates, and provides better health all around.

So the next time you have to deal with a major---or even minor---sorrow in your life, get a good notebook and pick up your pen and write! You will be suprised at what your heart wants to convey and encouraged as clarity and calm spring forth through your written words. If you're smart, you'll spend ten to fifteen minutes each day writing. The important factors are to not worry about spelling, penmanship, or whether you will be judged by your emotions. No one has to see your words. The notebook is for you only. Discover how picking up your pen leads to a healhier life as you journey through your anguish.

~*~*~*~ Join us for the Weep Boldly; Write Bravely Writing Workshop, Saturday, April 27th at the Hampton Inn in Raleigh, NC.

And Then I Met James

The older we grow as we travel this journey called Life, the more we realize we don't walk alone; many have influenced us. Friends, family, clergy, and others have provided guidance over the years.

After my son died, I filled journals with emotions, questions, woes----basically, lots of pain. Most of the pages were not ones I wished to share with anyone. Even though I felt I was losing my mind, fading from who I used to be, and finding the future scary, writing gave me comfort. Journaing brought clarity, and sometimes even solace. To help me on my rocky journey, I also devoured books about grief from memoirs to tomes on writing. It was in Louise DeSalvo's book that I met James Pennebaker.

Who is James? In a nutshell, he's a professor at the University of Texas at Austin whose studies have shown the value of expressive writing when dealing with turmoil. James' work piqued my interest.

In one six-week study, he had half his class write about trivial things and the other half write about wounds and the more sorrowful parts of life. At the end of the study, those who had written deeply were healthier. Pulse rates, heart rates, etc., were checked before and after the study to prove this.

James writes: “If keeping a secret about a trauma was unhealthy, it made sense that having people reveal the secret should improve health. As a social psychologist, I was concerned with having people talk about their secrets to another person because of the complicated social dynamics that would likely result. Consequently, I decided to have participants write about the most traumatic experience of their lives or, for those in a control condition, write about superficial topics.”

I knew writing worked, but because of James' studies, the value of writing as a tool for healing has become more "scientific" for me. The findings from his work are evidence I can use when I advocate for writing as a means of healing. It's not just me telling others writing works because it worked for me (and continues to do so), but there is research that validates how effective what I call "grief and loss writing" is.

My "After Daniel" journals were safe places to unleash all the feelings bottled in my heart. These tear-stained epistles now sit in my closet in a large canvas bag given to me by Sascha, a twice-bereaved mom, poet, and friend. These journals represent my journey of healing, and are one of the reasons, like James, I believe in the writing-health connection.

Writing through life's traumas is good therapy!

Can Grief Make Us Creative?

I remember being overwhelmed, guilt-ridden, and shocked at tears that sprung on me in the bank, the cereal aisle, and when watching a commerical on TV for St. Jude's. As I cried at the clinic, I told my midwife I feared my excessive tears would hurt the baby in my womb. I recall those early days of wanting to drive into the truck ahead of me on the road and die. I could not do this bereavement life, I could not continue in a world without my son Daniel.

Yet I, somehow, was propelled to write. Not just in my journal, but articles, poems, and essays. I didn't have energy to meet with friends, but I could sit at my kitchen table and put words onto paper. Ideas for articles filtered through me as easliy as waves topple the shore. I jotted outlines onto note cards while my toddler napped and and my eldest learned to read at her elementary school. I submitted some of my work to magazines and newsletters. When my first piece was published, I danced around the living room shouting to the sofa and walls, "Daniel, we did it!"

Often the phone rang as I wrote; I ignored it and let the answering machine take the call. Grief flattened my self-confidence, my purpose, and my faith. But writing kept me sane and motivated. Writing helped make sense of the senseless death of my four-year-old boy. The ability to express myself made me bold. Best of all, the connection I felt to Daniel as I wrote about him made my heart feel warm and hugged.

And then when another bereaved parent wrote to say my article communicated what she felt but was unable to form into words, I felt heard and understood.

~~ Alice J. Wisler believes in the power of the pen for healing, health, and hope. Join her on April 27th at the Hampton Inn and Suites in Raleigh for an all-day writing workshop, Weep Boldly; Write Bravely.

Chocolate Sandwich Cookie Recipe

Ingredients

6 Tbsp butter, softened

2/3 cup granulated sugar

1/3 cup cocoa powder (I use Hershey's)

1/4 tsp baking powder

1/8 tsp salt

1 egg

2/3 cup all-purpose flour

1 recipe for filling (below)

1. In a bowl, with a mixer, beat the butter on medium for 1 minute. Add the sugar, cocoa, salt, and baking powder. Beat until combined, scraping bowl as needed. Beat in egg. Beat in flour until dough comes together.

2. Spoon dough onto a large piece of plastic and wrap into an 8-inch line. Wrap the long sides of the plastic tightly over the dough. Roll dough gently over the countertop while twisting the ends until it is a smooth, uniform log approximately 1 3/4 inches in diameter. Freeze for 1 1/2 hours until it is firm enough to slice. (Or chill for 4 to 6 hours.)

3. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Line 2 cookie sheets with parchment paper. If necessary, reshape log to make it evenly round. Using a sharp knife, cut log crosswise into 1/8-inch-thick slices. Place slices 1 inch apart on prepared cookie sheets.

4. Bake until edges are firm, 12 minutes. Cool on cookie sheet 2 minutes, then remove and transfer cookies to wire rack. When completely cool, fill with filing of your choice.

I used a butter-powdered-sugar-vanilla and vanilla cookie wafer and crushed almonds filling. I didn't have any freeze-dried raspberries on hand. But the original recipe has a raspberry filling. I think as long as you use butter and powdered sugar, you could add whatever you'd like.

Raspberry Cream Filling Recipe:

In a medium bowl beat 1/2 cup softened butter with a mixer on medium until creamy, 1 minute. Beat in 1 cup powdered sugar and 1/2 tsp. vanilla. Add 2 to 4 Tbsp. very finely crushed freeze-dried raspberries. Add more powdered sugar to form the consistency you like. Pipe or spread the mixture evenly onto the bottoms of half the cookies, 2 tsp. each, and then top each bottom with a cookie, bottom side down onto the filling. Gently press together. Makes 18 sandwich cookies.

When Love and Laughter Play the Tune

It's those tapes that want to ruin our lives.

When we've lost a loved one, the tapes of the last moments play in our heads like a broken record that never stops its scratchy noise. The music is the worst we've heard---loud and grating. There is no off-button. The noise is made up of our thoughts that cause us to contemplate the last words spoken by ourselves and by our loved one. We think of how it could have gone differently and how if it had, our loved one would still be alive. Over and over we ask, why did it have to end this way? If only . . . . If only I had taken him to the hospital earlier. If only I had watched him more closely. If only I had known more about the disease or his friends or the event where he was in danger. We scream into the night. We think the constant-playing tapes will kill us. Exhausted, we want to shut off our minds.

As we go over in detail the last moments with our loved one, we want to believe the moments could have been orchestrated differently.

Control is the loud tune that plays in rhythm with If Only. The two work together. We have been led to believe that we have control. We think it is ours. We wore our seat belts and ate our vegetables, were kind to our neighbors (even the nosy ones) and bought toys for our children. We shouldn't have to be going through this confusion, this ache, this despair. Our loved one should still be here with us. Instead, we are now living a life without him or her and wondering how to face each day. For whatever reason, we have bought into the myth of power, control, thinking we could play God in our lives. We ignore the soft voice that asks, "Did you get to choose your place of birth, or height, or color of your eyes?"

To try to make sense of our confusion and illusions, we journal. Page after page, we fill them with questions like: How long does this pain last? When will I get back to the old me? For help, we read the lives of others who have been on the bereavement journey. We marvel at their survival and at the same time wonder how they have done it. Can we do it? Can we journey year after year without our child, our spouse, our parent, our friend?

We put the journals and books aside, and go back to the If Only and Control. Over and over the frantic tunes play as we continue to live the last days. While the re-living the last days seems detrimental, the truth is, it is necessary. It's called process. Our brains need to process what has happened to us in our loss. Eventually----and I don't know how long eventually is---the tapes wear thin. We forgive ourselves, we realize control is a myth, we realize it is not up to us to have control over when someone takes his last breath. We acknowledge we are not God. We may never understand why our loved one died when she did or the way she did. We may never get the answers we want on this earth. But one thing we know, until our last breath, we are going to have to figure out how to make this bereavement journey work.

On a day where the sun pushes past the clouds, we hear the laughter of our loved one. As we drive to work, we recall a road trip with our significant other. In the parking lot, we remember a joke our son told. The laughter feels strange to our ears. A smile expresses the memories we carry in our hearts. The next day we may be back to listening to the If Only tapes, but once again, on another day, a fond memory slips through. She did like to bake oatmeal cookies, he did give the best hugs. And we trod on the journey, clouds and sunlight, dreariness with glimpses of hope. And we are progressing. Day after day, we embark on the rocky path, finding our footing, discovering what we need, learning and growing.

And one morning, we find ourselves thinking: Maybe I will survive. Maybe, perhaps, I might even thrive again. And in the meanwhile, we savor the laughter and the love. They are what fit inside our hearts; their tunes are worth carrying and playing over and over again.

What We Never Lose

I always think, "the wound won't be as painful this year," and I am always reminded that love never dies and missing my son is part of who I am.

Weep Boldly; Write Bravely --- A Writing Workshop Just For You --- Watch the Video

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