When I finished writing the first draft of chapter five I burst into tears.
I'll never forget that moment. It solidified my 'why'. The reason I started writing this book in the first place.
I'd set myself up to write all-day-long in our master cabin. I was propped up with cushions, my back nestled in against the wall. I had my adjustable laptop stand sitting over my outstretched legs and the cursor just sat there, under the heading 'Chapter Six', blinking at me.
Or was it winking at me? Was it telling me it was okay now? It was okay to let it all go.
That's when it hit me. A wave of emotion flooded through me and I sat there and sobbed my little mended heart out. I was completely caught off guard, but I wasn't unhappy. This was what I had been hoping would happen.
I read somewhere that writing can be a cathartic process. Writing can be therapeutic. It can help you re-evaluate a traumatic experience by enabling you to look at it from different perspectives.
And ya know what? It does!
As I finished writing about one of the most traumatic things that has ever happened to me, I realised my heart was no longer suffering from it. It wasn't stuck anymore, it was free.
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