Everyone was asleep aside from me.
Thoughts were just swirling around my head. It was an ocean of fear, doubts, worry and expectations.
Each new thought came like a crashing wave, disturbing the water, crashing into the shore.
All I could think was that the black beast was back. It had made its bed and got comfy, unwilling to move and cooperate.
In the middle of the night, it can be so hard. The uncertainty, the darkness, the knowledge that despite the family around me it was just me at that moment.
This is where the completion of journalling in the good times when I felt happy, when the black beast was dormant and obedient, became so useful. The skills and habits I had intentionally practised became a lifeline and a crutch I so desperately needed.
An empty page.
A safe place to write down all that was going on in my head at that moment.
Just a place to write down and empty the ocean onto the page.
For 45 mins I allowed the waves to crash onto the page instead of in my mind. I shined a light on the darkest, depths, illuminating all which was lurking. Not bothering with neatness, not making it look pretty, just writing.
The waves stilled in my mind, and the ocean became to calm. I noticed the smooth pebbles, the gratitude, the fossils evidence of past strength I’ve acquired.
The still small voice told me it would be ok. The waves would calm and still. The morning would bring a fresh perspective and light.
The more we have embraced simplicity, the more I notice my thoughts. The slower we have become, becoming intentional with cultivating our life, the storminess seems fiercer. It has my attention.
The stillness has brought more clarity. Instead of seeing the vastness of the ocean, I see possibilities. I see the sun hit the water, refracting light. The shells and pebbles have been smoothed, tossed around, but still present and beautiful to look at.
Journalling has enabled me to see the ocean of my thoughts and feelings. Breaking down the waves which come and beat the shore and instead, see the clarity and strength which they have — thrashing words and thoughts no longer a storm in my mind but words on a page.
When it’s written down, you get perspective. You see the things which were caught in the chaos. Simplicity allows space to breathe. Doesn’t try to hold the ocean, but instead embraces the smallness of us. The fears and failures become words on a page.
I urge you to try it. To empty out all you have stored up and perculated.
The page is the safe space.