I’m so messed up, I sent my therapist to therapy!
Fortunately, that’s not me. It’s just a lyric from an Alec Benjamin song. But it got me thinking that my therapy has always been writing. I was talking to my cousin once, and he said he couldn’t pick a pen to organize what was going on in his mind. And I just couldn’t relate, because the moment my brain juice starts to spill, the pen keeps on moving.
I write until everything I have in mind is on paper. I felt blessed while writing this because I didn’t know this was a privilege. Not everyone is able to comprehend, sort, and organize everything that’s bothering them, and if I am able to do that effortlessly, I’m on the greener side of the ground.
And it’s not just about the act itself; it’s the acknowledgment of the gift we have in finding these therapeutic outlets. Whether it’s strumming chords on a guitar, splashing colors on a canvas, or crafting sentences into paragraphs, each person’s path to tranquility is unique. So, as I continue to spill my brain juice onto pages, I’m reminded of the privilege it is to have this outlet. It’s not just about writing; it’s about cultivating a practice that allows the chaos within to find order. It’s a journey—a personal exploration of self-discovery and healing.
In this vast spectrum of coping mechanisms, we’re all on our quest for the greener side—that place where our minds find solace and clarity. The beauty lies in the diversity of our chosen mediums, each contributing to the collective tapestry of human resilience. In the end, whether through notes, strokes, or words, the process is a celebration of our ability to transform chaos into art. It’s a dance with our own vulnerabilities, a journey that unfolds with every stroke of creation. 🎶🎨📝✨
Until next time, Adios amigo!
Read about My Origin of Writing HERE!
