What Writing Taught Me About Healing

And realize your story is begging to be told.

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I recently told my friend that writing is the only thing that makes sense to me. 

Not that I’m deluding myself into thinking I’m some prophetic poet; writing is just the one thing I’ve consistently known to be true. 

My thoughts can sometimes be so garbled, as I decondition years of stories and programming. Whether it’s feeling insecure, fearing the unknown or believing I’m not worthy, there have been moments in my life where my head is a scary place to be.

When I’m writing, my brain gets quiet; I’m not worrying about the future or obsessing over the past. Putting pen to paper or fingertips to keyboard forces me to be present. 

If I’ve learned anything in my (almost) 28 years, it’s that presence is the key to happiness. Joy can always be found in the here and now.

This blog was born from that place of peace, with the primary intention to share my story, hoping it speaks to someone’s heart and leaves a positive impact on their life. But, to do that, I knew I would have to share some uncomfortable truths.

It’s taken me four months to do a deep dive into my time in a Christian cult, but I agreed to discuss my experience on the podcast, Psychic on the Scene. I knew it was time to stop making excuses and document that life chapter in the book of me.

After finishing the first draft of Life After Pentecostalism, Finding God After Leaving a Cult, I felt an energetic weight lift from my chest. 

Feeling that burden float away surprised me. I felt so much lighter, my focus intensified, and fears that had been lingering in the recesses of my brain became a whole heck of a lot quieter. 

The cleansing I felt was mildly shocking because I wasn’t aware I was still carrying a burden from the past. 

I thought I had let go of the damage the church had done, and while I certainly had grown in the three years since my departure, I always seemed only to progress so far. I repeatedly found myself slipping into old patterns and seeing the same problems cyclically appearing in my life. 

But when I took the time to honestly sit with myself, analyze what led me to the decisions I made and give myself grace for them, I felt empowered—a feeling I’ve experienced in small increments but never allowed myself to embrace fully.

Choosing to stay quiet about that point in my life kept me safe. I didn’t have to worry about the judgment of others or publicly admit the role I had in my trauma. 

When I sat down to write the article, I had a panic attack. 

My heart quickened, my chest tightened, my breath became shallow, my vision got foggy, and I started to shiver. A string of familiar thoughts seeped into my head, “You’re going to die right now and go straight to hell. People are going to read what you’re writing after you’re dead, and your last words are going to be damaging to Pentecostalism. You’re doomed.” 

I hadn’t experienced thoughts like that in a while, and hearing myself think them was jarring. 

But they were just that, thoughts. 

They were a series of words strung together to tell an old narrative I used to believe. So I put my left hand on my heart and my right on my solar plexus, took five deep breaths, called in Reiki energy and asked God for guidance as I weaved together my old story and the new one. 

He listened, and I shared what was written on my heart. 

I don’t know what the future has in store for me, but I know my intentions. In sharing my story, it’s my goal that others will have the courage to speak up about theirs. We’re on the precipice of a critical time in human history; people are waking up to the truth that life is too short to do anything other than what makes them happy. We’re injecting more compassion into our interactions and recognizing that, for the outer world to be a better place, we must first focus on living in harmony with our inner world.

If your brain is a scary place to be, your reality will reflect that.

A lot of people have said to me, “you’ve been through so much at such a young age.” While I appreciate that recognition, I no longer see it that way; I’ve given myself the time and space to process through the trauma. I permit myself to feel all the feels, and after I feel them and process them, I allow myself to let them go.

I’ve shifted my perspective on the trauma of the past. The sexual abuse, eating disorders, suicide attempt, cult indoctrination, divorce, alcohol dependency, I see them for what they are: life hurdles that made me stronger.

Talking about them doesn’t bring me back into the pain or weigh me down with the heaviness of those times. Instead, when I’m authentic and vulnerable about my experiences, I allow love and forgiveness to transmute the hurt, taking away its power. It's life-changing, and while I still have my moments of suffering, it doesn’t have the same power it once did.

If the concept of letting go or forgiveness is triggering to you, that’s okay. Just because something works for me, doesn’t mean it has to for you. That’s the beautiful thing about healing; it’s uniquely yours. How you work through your life hurdles, what works for you and what doesn’t, is your sole responsibility. Don’t let anyone force you into a direction that doesn’t resonate with you. Don’t ever feel like you’re not where you should be because someone says you’re not. 

Your journey to your highest self is yours and yours alone. Some days are easier than others, but every moment you choose what's best for you is a step toward progress.

While it’s all of our individual responsibilities to heal ourselves, it’s important to acknowledge those who helped us get there.

To all those people in my life who stood by me, believed in and supported me, the ones who told me things I didn’t want to hear, gave me grace when I slipped and loved me through my lowest points, I am forever grateful to you.  I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.

And if I may, I have one last piece of advice: write.

You don’t have to share your story publicly (but if you feel called to, please do!), but pick up a journal and pen or open up a Google Doc and start reflecting on your life. You’ll find you’ve survived a lot more than you realize, are wiser than you know and stronger than you feel. Your story is important; at least make sure you know that.