My pain

Today, after years I finally wrote down a lot of the bad things that have happened to me over the years. I’ve held it deep down and rarely shared it because, stiff upper lip, you just get on with it. People call me stoic, well I have been like this for over 60 years. I’m only saying now because I need to prove it to someone. Taken all day to write it all down. Do I feel better? Don’t know. I think I’ve still got some hope left.

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12 thoughts on “My pain”

  3. I have always believed writing is cathartic. I used to write journals but they were written keeping grammar, et al in mind and now I write what I feel-what my mind tells me and it has helped.

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  5. Christine, unpacking six decades of suppressed history in a single day is a massive emotional heavy-lift, so it is completely understandable if clarity hasn’t kicked in just yet. Catharsis rarely operates on a timer, and processing that volume of material takes time to settle.

    It is fascinating that hope is what remains after laying it all out. That suggests your stoicism wasn’t just a shield to hide behind, but a structure that preserved your resilience until you were ready to face it. Proving your experience to someone else may have been the initial spark, but externalising those burdening memories is a shift that belongs entirely to you.

    Give yourself space to let the dust settle. The fact that your hope survived the audit is a remarkably strong place to land.

    Bob x

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