Therapeutic Writing Sessions—How It Gave Me a New Purpose to Live

The child inside the cocoon

Being a writer was never my choice, but I became a writer by chance. It is always something I repeat over and over again. Before sharing my insights on therapeutic writing sessions, I want to share something personal with you. If you can decipher it, you are good to go.

“A child was born inside a cocoon, a showpiece, kept in a drawer too long to preserve its beauty. She has been the object of sympathy since the time of her birth. She knows that her mother loves her and her father never cared to look back at her. Her parents are separated. Her grandma and aunt raised her along with her mother. All of them adored and cherished her for being too quiet and submissive by nature. Neighbors adored her, and acquaintances cherished her. Teachers complained about her being too quiet and too good but lacking confidence. Friends too somewhere felt that she lacked confidence and always kept her away from the limelight. Bullying was their nature, and the child always remained inside the cocoon for years in whichever condition the world felt right for her upbringing. Everything was well and good until the child found it hard to keep her wings inside the cocoon. 

Her mother tried to sabotage it, saying, “No, it is wrong. You are a child. You know nothing. Stay inside the cocoon now. “

The child listened happily. The discomfort was there. Her wings are soon growing inside. She no longer fits inside the cocoon. Her journey became more difficult as she lived inside a showpiece meant to show the beauty of her only thing—a cocoon.

The child felt uncomfortable. She wondered, ”What is wrong with me? I am on the wrong track, maybe. I must go inside the cocoon.”

The more she tried to go inside, the more she failed. The child kept on complaining to every passerby who came to have a look at her, “My life is so horrible; how will I survive like this?”

Every one of them told her, “It is not always about you. All of us have problems, so what? We face it and move on. That’s the end. Stop chiding like a child.”

“But I am a child learning the ways of the world.”

“No, you only know how to gain sympathy through personal stories. “

“I say the truth, nothing else.”

The child started crying as the discomfort grew threefold. She kept on crying until she started to write in her diary. In the absence of her mother and other family members, she started to spread her wings a bit in the showpiece where she is kept. Her diary became her companion and her best friend. Slowly and steadily, she started to enjoy her steaming cup of black coffee, eggs, new makeup, and dresses. The books allowed her to travel to unknown places in the world. They allowed her to live the characters inside the book and form a better perspective of the worldview. Her wings spread wide, and it looks beautiful with blue and black patterns in it. Her mother was aware of it and said, “You can do nothing in life. You are a failure, and you will always be a failure.”

The loud music, almost deafening to the ear, was always present to prevent the child from spreading her wings and flying. The child was in tears until she took her wings and flew in the presence of her mother, oblivious to the loud music meant to keep her inside the cocoon. 

The child entered a new world. It was full of sunshine and laughter. She started to interact with different kinds of butterflies. All of them are beautiful in their own way—orange, violet, black, white, brown, yellow, and green are their colors. Many colors exist, but the child doesn’t know about it. She lives as the world lives. She shares her stories with the world and backs off as soon as the world starts to play their loud music. She goes inside a new cocoon of solitude and her diary until she joins a new group for her survival. 

The boss is beautiful, and her wings are the most exquisite in the world. Her words are like honey. Who knows that the strangers are her assets? Money is her tool, and her work is an asset. She does not run, she does not cry, she laughs. She is calm and composed in each and every flap of her wings. She knows that the world is never kind to anyone, so she becomes kind to herself. Her magical dust is spread everywhere and anywhere she goes. She lives in the sun, rain, thunder, lightning, storm, and winter. Her wings are hurt, but her smile never goes away. She has her own way to preserve her individuality without letting go of who she is. 

“Have you ever met a person like this?”

“Yes, for sure, the people I hate are just like my mother, but she is grounded in reality and long-term stability.”

“Learn to be like her.”

“Solitude may be your power, but it is never wrong to shake hands with your enemies, have a few stabs in your back, smile, and get your work done. It’s, after all, your long-term goal, right?”

“I agree, but is it right to cheat, lie, and fight?”

“Of course, it is right, first of all, you care about you and then the rest of the world. Do you love to get drenched in the rain with your wings being affected by each droplet of rain?”

“No, I do whatever I can do in order to survive in the world.”

“Do you keep standing in the rain still because you believe it is the right thing for you to do? That too, because it is not okay to lie, cheat, deceive, or tell half-truths for your well-being. But is it okay to die in the process of being too stuck to your roots when you know you are about to be uprooted soon?”

“No, definitely no.”

“The storm is doing its work, but do you grab someone to hold you tight to keep yourself intact?”

“Then, what is wrong with how I survive in this world and keep my beautiful growing wings intact?”

This is what I came across in one of the journals of my therapeutic writing sessions. Different people may have different interpretations, and it is completely ok. Over the years, writing is what kept me alive, and it always keeps me alive. Therapeutic writing, practiced by me over the years , knowingly or unknowingly, helped me to know the layers within me and understand myself on a deeper level. It has stopped my obsessive levels of thinking and reduced depression and anxiety while allowing me to take control of my narrative. 

In the process of helping my clients heal through therapeutic writing sessions, I discovered that I am not the only one struggling with my own set of problems; everyone is. There is nothing wrong with it. People have their own lives, and I have mine. No one is meant to understand each other in a completely crystal-clear way. At the end of the day, I am blessed to have a safe and non-judgmental space, my writing, to help me find a purpose to survive in this world. 

One of the testimonials of my clients for her therapeutic writing session, conducted by me. It was a one-on-one session.

Heal myself and others through writing and allow people to find and understand themselves on a deeper level. However, therapeutic writing sessions cannot replace the help that is provided by counselors, therapists, psychiatrists, or any other mental health professionals. 

To book therapeutic writing sessions with me, click on this link now.