Writing was a wall between a suffocating past and a future I didn’t want to face. For a time, writing shored up that sadness like a dam.  – Darlene Collins

When my son left home at 18, I immediately threw myself into writing. From experience, I knew that it could bring desperately needed perspective and distraction.

But I hadn’t anticipated the force of what I was facing. The sadness swelled like a rogue wave and fed on itself, like a snake eating its own tail. The loss was too much, the wave too heavy. I had lived with the anxiety of the coming loss for too long and my defences were weak.

I felt like I was crawling out of my own skin.

So I used words to shore it all up, to distract myself while I found a way through it, little by little and one drop at a time, rather than facing down the whole swell at once.

Writing isn’t a magic bean – but it can be a bandaid if you need one.

D.

©Darlene Collins 2018

(Image credit © Annie Spratt / Unsplash)

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