The Transformative Power of Writing

July marks the 8th anniversary of me blogging at Typeset Writing. My life has shifted dramatically in these years as I’ve broken free from a relationship with my mentally ill & abusive parent, unraveled toxic beliefs, and stepped into health and wholeness as an adult.

Throughout these years of blogging and healing, writing has been a lifeline.

Writing provides me with the space to make sense of life.

I often say I don’t know exactly what or how I feel about something until I write. Whether journaling, blogging, or furiously typing in my Apple Notes app, I can’t fully make sense of what’s happening or how to move forward without putting pen to paper. It allows me to process my trauma and shifting beliefs in a way nothing else does.

A creative outlet that doubles as a free way of processing, blogging (semi-)consistently has helped me internally sort out life-altering events. I wrote and journaled most frequently in the seasons of regularly attending therapy, setting firm boundaries my abusive parent, and ultimately having to walk away from that unsafe relationship.

Through tear-stained pages and haphazard blogs, I processed how to heal from childhood trauma, develop secure attachment, and believe I deserved rest, health, and love.

When I reflect on my early years of blogging, I clearly see the confusion and uncertainty I faced, but I also see how processing through writing helped me pave a healthier way forward. As I wrote observations about faith and culture and mental health, I slowly derived that I was worthy of good mental health, of secure relationships, of faith and family that did not harm me.

Writing has allowed me to release the fear of change.

In eight years of sharing my thoughts on this little corner of the internet, I’ve changed in drastic measures. I’ve transformed from a college student trapped in an abusive parental relationship to an adult who’s done the hard work in therapy and set firm boundaries for how I deserve to be treated.

I’m no longer willing to compromise my mental health and wellbeing for the sake of appearance, nor will I condone gospel-washed abuse to avoid rocking the boat. I now care far less about keeping the peace and assuaging abusers than I do about pursuing truth, authenticity, and wholeness.

In so many ways, I don’t look, live, or believe the way I did eight years ago—and writing has created a means for that slow metamorphosis to unfold.