Good morning! Over the past few days, the air has really come alive with warblers, as more and more migrant birds reach our part of Scotland, and yesterday morning, skylarks began adding their voices to the chorus – always a happy sound. I’m now awaiting the return of our housemartins and, as we’ve seen the last frost (fingers crossed) Tom and I have been able to start preparing our vegetable beds for planting. There’s something very reassuring about seeing the seed trays all lined up in the potting shed, and looking forward to things growing. We’ve actually only just finished eating last year’s potato crop and yesterday (ceremoniously) consumed our last homegrown leek and onion. I’m not much of a flower gardener, but I also really enjoy growing different varieties of sweet peas. I think that will especially be the case this year.
Today I wanted to share a quick tip for managing the present moment. I’ve read a few pieces recently that frame our current shared experience as a kind of collective trauma, and it’s certainly the case that, though our circumstances may differ greatly, we are all having to find our own ways of navigating acute uncertainty, stress, fear, and anxiety. I’ve spoken to several therapists in the years after my stroke and they are always interested in what they assume to be the severely traumatic effects of my experience of sudden, serious brain injury and misdiagnosis (because I have bipolar disorder, my paralysis was initially incorrectly assumed to be psychosomatic, and it took 36 hours for my stroke to be correctly diagnosed after an MRI scan). But here’s the thing: after my stroke (as well as prior to it!) I’ve had many mental health issues to manage, but trauma has not been among them. And discussion with therapists has helped me to figure out one reason why. As soon as I was able, I wrote about my experience of stroke, and, as I continued to deal with many difficult things during my recovery, I continued to record how I was feeling by writing it down. Occasionally I wrote about these things here, on this blog (one of the many reasons I’m very grateful for it!) but more often than not I just wrote stuff down in a notebook that only I ever saw. One of the worst aspects of anxiety is rumination (turning things over repeatedly in your mind) but I’ve discovered that writing about things is not only very different to dwelling upon them mentally, but can also really help to arrest or diffuse a ruminative cycle.
Why is that so? Well, in writing, you aren’t simply absorbing yourself in your ruminative or worrying thoughts, but separating yourself from them through an act of expression (which, however spontaneous it may feel, always involves some consideration). Simply because of the effort it takes, writing engenders a very particular kind of detachment from your thoughts and feelings, and allows you a certain measure of perspective upon them. On a page or screen, written-down worries are externalised – they are set apart from you, rather than feeling like they are ineluctably a part of you – and that detachment may help you to rationalise or contain your worrying thoughts. Crucially too, the act of writing is always a form of power – a small thing that can allow you to regain control in situations in which you otherwise may feel incredibly powerless.
You don’t have to be a writer to write – and the only audience you are ever likely to have for what you put into such words will be yourself. I’d also stress that I am certainly not suggesting that the written word is some sort of universal anxiety-busting magic bullet. It is merely that writing is something that has undoubtedly worked for me – not only in alleviating the potentially serious effects of traumatic experience (and I know I’m not the only person to discover that writing eliminates flashbacks) but in mitigating much less serious and (for me) routine fluctuations of mood. So, if you are finding managing the current moment difficult for any reason, you might well find that taking an hour or two to write about your concerns and fears may help.
The photograph is Tom’s, of course – of a Hebridean tide.
Kate, I love this post and all the thoughtful comments. Indeed there is much to think about , write about & contemplate these days. Tom, I love your photo. Thank you. Hugs
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Thank you once again for the daily inspiration and guidance your posts are sharing. You have so much wisdom!!
As a person with anxiety, I thank you for the reminder of how much the act of writing can mitigate that overwhelmed and obsessive thinking.
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Thanks for a post that prods me in all the right ways.
I write professionally- mostly analysis and evidenced-based stuff. I used to write poetry and fiction and songs for school, for pleasure, for relief, to let off steam and work things out. I don’t know why my professional focus areas seem to have shut down my personal focus areas, but they have. Yet, even in the writing I do, all the mechanisms you describe are at play. Arguments and ideas that are on paper are much easier to challenge and refine, because, somehow, they are not so intimately mine as they are in my head. When I am in my analyst brain, or my editing brain, I manage difficult topics with much more nuance and understanding than I do in my all-by-myself, in-my-own-head brain. Tough issues become knots to unravel, rather than rocks lobbed at my sense of self and security. I hear things in my writing that I cannot hear in my head, or even in my spoken voice. That writing also provides a quiet forum where the only goal is to be clear and accurate, and because of the nature of my work, solution-focused.
I have always thought of my ability to use words as my most reliable skill to effect the changes I want to see in the world. I have not used that skill as diligently to effect peace and change in myself. But this post is making me rethink that. Thank you, again.
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Over many years, indeed since I was quite a young child, I have written poetry. Most, if not all, my poems come from some emotional impact,be it the beauty of a sunset,the peaceful sounds of bees buzzing on flowers or less pleasantly,aspects of emotional upheaval of some kind. Many have been read by friends,who have found that the words I use to create the images I feel transport them to the place I have imagined, or speak to them of their own feelings. Perhaps one day I will manage to edit and publish them.
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I’m the same – a lifelong mostly private poet – it is only in the past months that I’ve felt able to share some of those words more widely. Perhaps that time is here for you too?
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In a way, I suppose writing is like designing a knitted garment, knowing what I want to see and working hard with the materials (in this case, words) to achieve the result I want. As you say, Kate, the effort can take me out of myself and the perseveration I’m so good at. But I most agree, privacy — or, at least, safety — is critical for this to work. Years ago, my life was changed forever when that boundary was breached and my cathartic diary work was read and abused by someone never meant to see it. The experience has left me feeling less able to make use of the healing aspects of creative writing, acutely self-monitoring. The exercises you propose in Wheesht have made me aware of the crippling effect that one damaging blow has had. If an accurate diagnosis leads most quickly to a cure, you have helped me to make that first crucial connection. Thank you!
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Oona, I’m so very sorry you had this terrible experience. I hope you are able to move towards finding safety and comfort in the private, creative spaces of your words and making. I do often find myself thinking about the similarities between finding (and honing) words, and making garments.
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Thanks again Kate for your words and Tom for your pictures. When birds sing, the meaning may not be clear to us, but their song can lift us and remind us of wonder. Writing can be the same. Sometimes meaning comes from the words, sometimes later, or not at all. Regardless the act of writing can help us to connect to what lies within us and hopefully help us to rediscover the wonder around us.
Snow is almost all melted and many birds have returned to Ottawa, Canada. Listening to bird song and finding new growth peeping up from a winter sleep. May we all find ways to grow and heal and help in these time.
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Kate you are one amazing strong woman. I admire your inner strength. Your knitting skills are very special and over the top as are Tom’s magical camera eyes. Thank you for all. May you be blessed with health and safety during this zany nasty pandemic.
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Good morning from Small town Vancouver Island. The daily emails from KDD bring me such heartfelt joy, wonder,excitement, inspiration and sometimes tears. This morning I found myself linking to the interview with Catherine Mountford, entitled Disorientation establishes new perspectives. What a priviledge to be allowed into the thought processes of this inspiring artist. In particular I found this statement so applicable to the present.
Liminal space is the threshold between one chapter and the beginning of a new one where you can feel yourself growing as an individual into the unknown. This can be an intimidating and an ambiguous time, but if we can harness this transitional period and hone in on its potential then the sensation of disorientation can serve as establishing a new perspective of viewing life as a whole, a new way of seeing our surroundings.
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I have used writing to help sort out those times in my life when events happened that seemed unexplainable. When I was a teacher, I would, in conjunction with the social worker, have students who lost a family member, keep a journal to help them deal with their grief. The youngest was 5 but it did really help the child finally voice what they were feeling. The child drew pictures and we would scribe what it was about.
We have been discussing on social media today that we really need to focus on people’s mental health right now. Even the healthiest are starting to show cracks. They search for normalcy, sometimes in poor ways (asking for home manicures, and other luxuries). When others started to write very hurtful things, some of us reminded them that this is the time, psychologically, when it all starts to get confused. We need to be kind, to be supportive, to offer alternatives in a nice way and to leave judgement behind. Writing out frustrations is a good method.
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Totally inspired and energised by this luminous post, Kate and Tom.
So appreciative that you recently “liked” a recent blog of mine (at writingpresence.com) …and thus I happened upon the extraordinary resource, textural beauty, and compassionate humanity that is yours, on KDD&Co. Thank you in so many ways, fellow weavers of words and light.
I join this conversation as someone who knows the tides of anxiety, depression, and existential terror, as well as swells of joy, wonder and elation.
For the last twentyplus years, I’ve re-engaged with free-flow writing – guided first by Julia Cameron, Natalie Goldberg – as a tool for approaching moment-by-moment experience, in all its gore and glory.
And for the past four I’ve explored companioned life-writing (as I call it) with small groups of similarly-hearted souls. And recently launched free sessions from my blog, as my contribution to world-wellbeing.
I am so heartened and encouraged by your advocacy for writing ourselves into wellbeing, Kate, and would like to link to these your words, from my own blog.
And I also invite anyone & everyone to play alongside, in ‘writing our way whole: at home’, starting perhaps with
https://writingpresence.com/2020/03/20/writing-our-way-whole-1-at-home-with-shaping-the-page/
May we all be open, curious, and resilient through the coming months, and emerge with relief and release into the sunshine!
Kathy
Biologist, life-writing-companion and poet
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And for me, it’s the birds. Chiff chaff very vocal and there seems more than usual, probably an over fertile imagination. Starlings have taken over the swift box, so I shall wait and see how many swifts this year. From a sizeable flock last year we had a maximum of 6 overhead, lucky to have them I suppose in North London.
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I like that “non-judgemental forum”.
After more than 20 years of writing diary I stopped my routine some years ago, because I was not feeling the desire of preserving my life through words anymore. But, for some reasons, I’m still writing to myself when I’m feeling overwhelmed with good or bad emotions. Instead of the lovely decorated hand-bound books of my former self, I’m now using scrap paper or even my laptop. This gives me so much freedom! Because I don’t have to keep my (silly) thoughts, I can use any tools and even my rudest language ;-) No one will see. I delete my texts after a short while or tear the sheets into pieces – even this is so satisfying. Just like getting rid of a ghost.
So, don’t be ashamed, just write down what’s inside of you. You can always burn it afterwards and watching the smoke can be meditative, too :-)
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I used to write my thoughts down when I was going through a difficult time after a couple of medical diagnosis but haven’t done it for a while. You have given me the nudge Kate to start again. I know it will definitely help me cope with anxiety and doubts. Thank you so much for sharing with us. It really helps.
Take care
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I also find writing helpful. My father’s death was very traumatic – he died in agony in front of us – and haunted me for months afterwards. Writing down my thoughts, feelings and memories as they surged up in the following weeks was very helpful and calming; the cognitive process interrupted the loop and helped me process my feelings and move forward. I made sure I always had a pen or pencil and notebook by me, ready the moment I needed them.
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I also found that as I always had the notebook to hand and developed a habit of writing, I ended up writing lots of positive, healing thoughts and memories which were helpful to read back to myself at other times.
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Kate I had a similar experience with my husband’s passing and the flash backs are still haunting me. But I have always been a journal writer…for myself. And it is such a huge help. Like you paper and pen within reach at all times.
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I kept a diary during a fight against a malignant spinal tumour some twenty odd years ago and again in 2011 when my son went with 45 commando to Afghanistan. It undoubtedly helped me.
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I’ve used writing as a way of coping with anxiety for many years. I keep a diary some time writing daily or weekly, it’s very useful for sorting out my feelings and once I get things written down I can think about what happened, my reactions etc., Often my anxieties are with hindsight a bit irrational, so having a private and non-judgmental forum in a notebook means I don’t have to worry about things I’ve said or done after – if that makes sense. When I’m in a happy place I also collect nice notebooks to keep all my thoughts in.
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notebook as ‘non-judgemental forum’ – exactly, Chris
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Thanks for the reminder to write, Kate, definitely a wise move and something to find time for. What this time has brought to me is a shift in perspective, time to accept what I am good at and to begin to move away from what really are distractions.
Heading out now to my tiny veg patch in London where we’re having very warm weather.
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