Writing is a great way to get to know ourselves

E

motional intimacy occurs when we see and are fully seen by another person. We yearn for this kind of intimacy — to know and be known, to understand and be understood, to accept and be accepted, to support and be supported.

And yet, it’s not possible to have this with another person until we have it with ourselves.

Most of us are total strangers to ourselves, having very little idea of what we really think and feel. Instead, we have vague sensations of stress that must be quelled, or anxiety that floats freely in and around us. Our mood drops, our agitation rises. But we push it aside, busily getting through our days: Get up and ready, get the family up and ready, get them to school, to work, to home, to dinner, to wherever, on the move constantly. Who has time to really think and feel?

If we somehow find the moment, we often can’t tolerate it. Enter the addictions, the compulsions, the distractions, the rumination, the criticisms, and complaints. Enter the pills, the pains, the projects — anything and everything that can stop us from thinking and feeling. At least until we try to fall asleep.

Why We Run

Many children grow up without this essential life skill. If you were fortunate, Mom or Dad helped you by at least seeing you; they looked at your face and could tell what you were feeling. One or the other named that feeling: “I know you’re disappointed...” and by doing so, helped you to see yourself — your inner experience — to some extent. “Yes,” you thought to yourself. “Yes, that’s the word. I’m disappointed.” The word both identified and started to heal the blocked energy.

But what about all the times that the parents weren’t there? The times that a teacher embarrassed you, a classmate rejected you, a good friend betrayed you? What about the time that you did poorly on an assignment, didn’t get picked for the part, struggled with something that everyone else found easy? What did you do with the feelings then?

If you were like a lot of us, you did nothing. You didn’t name the feeling for yourself. Most likely, you tried to quiet it or ignore it, until it made your head or stomach hurt. By the time you reached adulthood you had your escape routes well-planned (smoking, drinking, picking fights, daydreaming, pulling out your eyelashes, numbing out). Inside, a cluttered world of unprocessed feelings ate their way through your body, fogging up your mind, weighing down your heart.

A Simple Antidote

Emotional intimacy with oneself is surprisingly easy to attain and offers a simple antidote to the panic-induced running that most people engage in. It requires only paper and a pen (or a screen and a keyboard) and at least five to ten minutes (or as long as you like). With these simple tools, a person simply writes. Not a story or a poem, nor a diary or a record of the day’s events. Not a to-do list or entries in a gratitude journal.

This special writing is specifically for getting to know one’s self, befriend one’s self, and become emotionally intimate with one’s self. In order to do this, write about what you felt when events unfolded and how you feel now as you reflect on what happened. Do this in a unique way: Pick a topic (e.g., “today,” or “the thing that happened to me”) and write for five (or more) minutes straight, without pausing. Here’s an example: “Today I ate lunch by myself again. I hate doing that. I feel lonely and weird and uncomfortable. I feel sick right now just thinking about it. I feel sad and upset like I want to cry. My heart is hurting.”

For kids, it doesn’t have to be a whole long story, although it could be. For adults, ten to 15 minutes of private sharing yields the richest results.

What’s fascinating (and substantiated by research) is that when we do this exercise, we not only confront our lived experience (i.e., get to know ourselves) but we also relieve pain, lift stress, figure out how to solve our problems, and become physically, mentally, and emotionally healthier. Adopting a regular (ideally daily) writing practice, we become witness to our own experience, supporters of our own struggles, champions of our joyful accomplishments, and intimate companions to our deepest selves

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 871)