How Writing About Your Pain Can Give You Hope

Do you find that, in times of loss, it can be difficult to be open about your feelings? Do you find it easier to hide away, or pretend you’re fine, than show people that you’re in pain?

Well, you are not alone.

Half of all young people feel embarrassed about mental illness, and 55% believe they would lose friends if they opened up about it[1].

But this needs to change. And one way we can do that is by writing honestly about our pain.

One contributing factor towards mental illness are the pressures of social media. The NHS rated Instagram as the ‘worst for mental health’ in young people, as they were afraid of being their true selves online[2].

You might find it easy to post the positive parts of your life and hide the worst times away, I know I do. But the worst thing we can do to ourselves is pretend that we’re fine when we are not.

On certain platforms, even in real life, there is a competition for perfection. To look perfect, to be perfect, to never fail.

But humans are flawed, complex creatures with conflicting emotions and contradictory behaviour. Our heart may go one way and our head another, and all the while, we’re battling other things, like crafting a life for ourselves, juggling work, our social lives, money and our health.

And if that wasn’t bad enough – look at the world around us. Our surroundings are complex and unstable, with political, social and environmental issues flying about every second of every day. And while all of this is going on, many of us have our own individual struggles too. Loss, grief, heartbreak, low self-esteem, anxiety, depression and countless other issues.

So why don’t we talk more about how hard it is to be human?

Well, many people keep their pain silently locked away because of fear of rejection, humiliation, or judgement.

Or at least, this was my personal experience.

My auntie J was in her fifties when we lost her. When she was alive, she was bright; the kind of person that made the space around you feel like home, just by being there. She would be the first to make a pot of tea, even when it was your house. Her smile reminded me of sunshine. She was first on the dancefloor and the last off it, too. Strangers wanted to know her. Her family didn’t want to let her go.

And she was getting better, for a while, until she wasn’t. I was at university at the time, and after a panicked phone call from my mum, I caught the next flight home to see her – I was just in time by a matter of hours, but I managed to say goodbye.

A couple of weeks later, I returned to university, and this is when my mental health took a hit. My old friends were still living the lives they were living before she died – partying, drinking, adventuring without a worry in the world, and posting it all online for me to see.

Before my flight home, that had been me too. I had bragged about the great parts of my life, revelled in the likes and the comments, and kept the other parts of my existence hidden away.

But I was a different person back then. I felt physically different now – like everyone could see the grief pouring off me when I walked down the street.

Obviously, I was paranoid. Nobody was looking. Everyone was getting on with their lives and leaving me behind.

And every time I saw those ‘perfect’ lives online, I felt further isolated from their world. I didn’t know where I belonged anymore.

It was when I started writing poetry that my life began to have meaning again.

My councillor at the time suggested it. She said, if I was uncomfortable talking about how I felt, then I should use my creativity to make art out of my pain. It was honestly the best piece of advice I’ve ever been given.

So, I put away my phone, and I started writing a journal instead.

Small things came first. Lines about how the sun felt, and how I wished she could feel it too. Things I wish I had told her while she was alive. The way I cried when I watched the second series of Fleabag and she only got to watch the first.

And then, the poetry started. I wrote about my loss as if it was someone else’s. I transferred my pain into long, extended metaphors, describing it as a physical object, or, quite often, as the sea crashing against the cliffs. It made it less real somehow, less painful.

Part of this process was a desperation for it to be over. The rest was a longing, that it should never have happened in the first place.

But as I wrote more and more, the truth began to surface. I began using ‘I’ without flinching. I wrote from the heart and when I read the words back, knowing it was my story, my body and my mind felt lighter.

Any writers out there – you may know what I mean. When you finally let those swallowed feelings out onto the paper, and you feel a sense of relief just by seeing them in front of you.

The hardest thing to write about for many people is the moment of loss – that final goodbye.

But when I eventually managed it, hope began seeping back into my life again.

I had been watching The Impossible; a powerful film about the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami, if you haven’t already seen it. I’ve always been fascinated my water, especially the ocean. There is something wildly human about waves, how one moment they can be calm and serene, and the next loud and furious.

Watching the impact of this wave of water, how it ripped through the landscape and destroyed everything in its path, reminded me of how I felt during those months before my aunt died. My life, my innocence, and any belief I had previously had in a higher power was torn from my body.

Anyone who has known loss, will know that when grief impacts your life, your entire world implodes. Everything is washed away, and you have nothing left to show for it.

And so, this is exactly what I wrote.

The poem that transpired is called Tsunami, and it’s over on the portfolio section of my website, if you would like to see how it turned out.

After months of keeping my grief silent, I had finally let it out. Not only that, but I made the bold decision to post that poem, among others, on my Instagram.

Before long, followers began contacting me, sharing their personal experiences of loss. Knowing that I wasn’t alone in my pain was a comfort, and by being honest about my feelings, I had started a healthy discussion about mental wellbeing. This in turn inspired me to continue writing – for myself, and for them.

And so, this website began.

Blogger Isla Whateley talks a lot about her experience with mental health. She said: ‘I'd go on social media, see all my friends doing things and hate myself for not being able to do them, or feel bad that I wasn't as good a person as them.’[3]

However, once Isla began her YouTube channel, she said it gave her a ‘platform to talk, and talking with people is something I find imperative to my own health.’[4] Being open about her experience, and writing a blog helped her to heal.

And she is not the only person to speak out about mental health.

Novelist Matt Haig has become an advocate for talking about depression and anxiety, particularly through his wonderful novel Reasons to Stay Alive. In an interview, he admitted that ‘my problems were caused by not being comfortable talking about that stuff’[1].

Now, he regularly takes to Twitter to document his mental health journey, offering hope and comfort to his followers.

Rather than abandoning social media, how about we transform it into a platform for support, where we can write about our true selves – without judgement or competition – and find others like us?

Wherever you are and however you might feel, just remember that the way for us to collectively heal is to be open and accepting with one another.

And maybe, if you talk – or write – more about your struggles, you can help others like you, and begin to create a world that everyone can be proud to call home.

Further Links:

BBC News, Instagram 'worst for young mental health' (2017) <https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-39955295>

Matt Haig, Reasons To Stay Alive, (Edinburgh: Canongate Books, 2015)

Moore, Anna, Matt Haig: 'I wanted to end it all, but surviving and thriving is the lesson I pass on' (2018) <https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2018/nov/17/matt-haig-i-wanted-to-end-it-all-surviving-and-thriving-is-the-lesson-i-pass-on>

MQ Mental Health Charity, 12 statistics to get you thinking about mental health in young people (2020) <https://www.mqmentalhealth.org/posts/12-statistics> NHS, Instagram 'ranked worst for mental health' in teen survey (2017) <https://www.nhs.uk/news/food-and-diet/instagram-ranked-worst-for-mental-health-in-teen-survey/>