I don’t know about you, but when life starts throwing punches left and right, I tend to… emotionally freeze. You know that feeling? When your heart feels like it’s doing the cha-cha while being squeezed by anxiety? That was me, on loop.
Back then, I didn’t have a therapist or a support group. What I had—was pen and paper. And let me tell you, those two saved me more times than I can count.
when emotions choke, writing breathes for me
In the middle of chaos—financial stress, relationship drama, career doubts, you name it—I started to write. Not professionally at first. Just raw, messy, ugly-writing. I’d find a quiet corner, sometimes with tears, sometimes with rage, sometimes just blankness… and I’d write. Scribble, vent, purge.
It felt like my notebook listened without judgment. Like it held space for every angry word, every “why me,” every anxious spiral I couldn’t say out loud.
Writing became my outlet.
My pressure release valve.
My way of breathing when it felt like I couldn’t.
creative writing and journaling: my emotional MVPs
I don’t just journal. Sometimes I write random stories—fictional scenes that somehow mirror what I’m feeling inside. Sometimes I imagine conversations I wish I had the courage to say out loud. Sometimes I write poetry so dramatic, even my teenage self would roll her eyes.
But journaling? That’s my go-to. It’s not even aesthetic journaling, mind you. It’s not curated for Pinterest. Just words, scribbles, maybe some curse words in all caps when needed (they help, okay?).
I write lists of what’s hurting.
I write prayers.
I write letters I’ll never send.
I write gratitude notes—especially on days when my brain tries to convince me that everything sucks.
And on those particularly bad days? Like…
that one day i almost snapped but chose to scribble
I remember one awful day—words were thrown at me like knives. Not constructive criticism, but the kind of hateful, soul-crushing ones that burrow into your brain and whisper lies for weeks.
I felt myself shrinking. Like literally folding into myself.
But I grabbed my notebook and wrote.
Everything.
Unfiltered. No editing. No censoring. Just me, my thoughts, my trembling hand, and a pen that had seen better days. When I closed that notebook, I still hurt—but I could breathe. I reclaimed a little bit of my sanity.
if you’re feeling messy—write it out
You don’t have to be a “writer.”
Your grammar can be wonky.
Your penmanship can look like a toddler’s.
Doesn’t matter.
What matters is letting the chaos out of your chest and onto the page. Because the more we write, the more we understand ourselves. The more we write, the lighter the burden becomes. And on the days when no one seems to listen, your pen will.
So write. Write when you’re sad. Write when you’re angry. Write when you’re overthinking your overthinking.
Trust me, your mental health will thank you.
Ettenyl Writes 