There are some mornings that I just want to type. And this morning was one of them. I realise that I just want to keep going and keep going, and keep going. I’ve been doing morning pages the last two or three weeks, and this has always been in my journal, or on lose pages when my journal’s overflowed. And they’ve been just for me. And fuck, it’s been healing.
But this morning, waking up with the flu and feeling super tender and shit, I just had to share them on here. And maybe that’s what I’ll keep doing sometimes. Sometimes it’s lonely to just keep it all tucked up for yourself. Other times it feels like the most healing thing to do. My morning pages are somewhat nonsensical, and I think they’re best that way. The element of freeflowing madness that comes onto the page, declutters my head and leaves my mind emptier with more of a free flowing breeze for the rest of the day. Days I don’t do it, or I put it off til the afternoon, my mind is a clusterfuck of chaos, overwhelm, and confusion.
But this morning I woke with the desire that has been brewing the last couple of days. The desire to TELL THE WORLD WHAT’S GOING ON. I’d forgotten how healing this element of blogging is. The ability to just TELL millions of people, most of whom won’t even read it…it’s more the act of sharing that does it. It doesn’t matter if people read them. It sure as hell is lovely, and helps and heals, when they do, but the act of hitting ‘publish’ and the act of spilling your words out on the screen, through your fingertips pounding on the keyboard, is an act of huge healing in itself.
I really notice my relationship with writing, changing. I notice my experience of it, in the moment of actually writing, has changed. And continues to. And I assume always will. I notice that sometimes I just need to express, release, and shove a bunch of words out…normally from a place of stress, or turmoil, or pain. Sometimes this is the most healing thing I could do. But I notice that if I write in these states and it’s NOT the most healing thing I could do, I just end up stressed. I’m writing from my head, not my body. And the best writing comes from my body, with a sugar coating of intellect to ensure the words make a bit of sense.
Today for example, I needed that huge spill out on the page, and then I needed this more logical/making sense post to follow. When really, all I need to be doing right now is eating FOOD as my body is in overdrive from the lack of it. Damn you sensitivities. I’ll sit down to write, and it’ll be the most healing thing to do, but then twenty minutes – or FIVE minutes – in, I realise the computer screen, the exertion, the stimulation, is too much…so, what do I do? I continue, obviously. Because I am a twat. But sometimes I don’t, and I have a bunch of abandoned blog posts, one paragraph in. Actually, I have about a hundred.
So on days like this, when my body is yelling at me to stop and I will most definitely pay for this unwanted exertion for the rest of the day, I am glad I did it…
Because it makes me feel like I’ve told the world something.