I’ve never enjoyed the physical act of writing, and this goes back to my early years in boarding school, when we were made to write with the old-fashioned dip pens and real ink. (I know, this dates me!)

Being a left-handed writer, this meant that I always had an ink stain on my left hand, as it blotted what I had just written, or my writing was illegible as I tried to avoid the first issue.

I also used to dislike intensely any writing-based activities at school, such as essays. Maybe it was because the subject matter was given to us, or maybe it was because I hadn’t come to appreciate the feeling that writing can give you.

Anyway, I welcomed the advent of the personal computer, when I could write (or type) legibly, and much faster too. (My handwriting is sort of readable if I go slowly, but that doesn’t happen too often, no matter how good my intentions are.)

Having written newsletters for a club I belong to for about eight or nine years, and holding administrative positions on several committees, not to mention my years of working in an IT / Business Strategy role, I actually came to enjoy creative writing, which surprised me completely.

I think the beauty of it came to a head when on holiday in late 2004.

I’d been unhappy in my (first) marriage for many years by then, and although the details are not relevant to this post (I may write about it at a later date), suffice it to say that I became severely depressed and even suicidal.

The domestic problems I was facing left me more and more confused, and increasing sensations of helplessness overcame me – I really didn’t know where to turn or what to do.

So, I took my laptop on holiday with me, and as my first wife slept during the day, I decided to put down on virtual paper everything I could think about that related to the situation I found myself in.

This included a chronology of my slide into depression, the source of it all, the solutions I’d tried (or contemplated), and my feelings about what was going on.

It turned out to be about 30 pages of the most personal stuff I’d ever committed to paper, but at the end of it all, several days into the holiday, I felt like a cloud had lifted.

I knew exactly how I felt, and I saw light at the end of the tunnel in terms of what had to be done.

Now, some 3+ years later, I’m re-married, happy, over my depression, and I know that if I hadn’t spent that time writing everything down, I’d probably still be where I was. (To be fair, it took more than just the writing to get me better and help me move on in life, but it was certainly the trigger, in my opinion.)

So, what’s my point here?

Well, for me, I’ve come to realise that writing down your thoughts and feelings is a liberating and therapeutic experience: it helps to clarify what’s going on inside your head (and maybe your heart too); it forces you to confront stuff that you’ve probably not wanted to accept; it’s a written record of how you felt at a particular point, which you can return to later as a reminder of how much you’ve moved on, in case there are days when your darkness returns; and it gets stuff off your chest – it’s a bit like telling somebody else about your problems, but without actually having to tell them.