Late November -- the days are suddenly cold and noticeably shorter, the nights somehow darker. At a time when traditionally we might anticipate celebrating with family and friends to brighten the winter season, many of us are more isolated than ever as COVID continues to complicate and cancel our plans to be with those we love. Weary from a long nine months of living with the losses and stresses of the pandemic, it seems a long lonely winter is upon us.
Isolation and loneliness is especially challenging in grief. Many of you are bearing your own devastating personal loss through this time of national and global loss, and know well the disorienting sense of living all alone in a world invisible to, and radically different from, those around you. You know the loneliness of masking your pain because it makes people uncomfortable. You know the fear of being judged or “fixed” by someone who does not get it. You know the ache of words unsaid because those around you aren’t able to listen to your pain.
You know the longing to have someone listen, just listen. And accept you just the way you are. And offer words of compassion, affirmation, and solidarity as you search for the strength to continue.
When you are feeling most alone, consider writing. A journal is a ready listener: open-hearted, non-judgmental, able to take in whatever is troubling you for as long as you need to talk. Writing is always available to you: in quarantine, when a friend is too busy or stressed, when it’s too cold for social distance visiting, when you lie awake in the middle of the night. And, as we are about to see, writing can also be a way to offer ourselves the solace we are seeking.
Even if the word “journal” evokes guilty images of one more “I-should-but-probably-won’t” coping tip, or the thought of writing makes you cringe, take a couple of minutes right now — yes, right now — to try this writing exercise. It may seem silly, but the results are often quite profound.
Find something to write with — pen and paper, journal, computer, phone.
Imagine you are making a diary entry. Start by writing the date, then “Dear Diary” (or Dear Journal, Dear Friend, Dear Listener — whatever works for you.)
Set a timer for two minutes. Begin with “In this moment I ….” and write freely without pausing, whatever feelings and thoughts come to mind. Anything goes! Don’t worry about spelling or legibility or grammar; this is only for you.
When the time is up, finish your thought if needed, then give yourself a little space on the page before resetting the timer for two minutes.
Allow your Diary to respond to you, addressing you by name (for example, I would write: “Dear Mitzi, ……”) Again, write freely without censorship, letting words flow onto the page.
When the time is up, finish your thought if needed. If you want to go a little further, ask your diary: “Is there anything else you want me to know?” and let it respond.
Look over what you wrote. What do you notice? Did anything unexpected happen?
Many people who (bravely!) try this kind of writing are surprised to find within themselves a voice of understanding and encouragement, even humor. If this happened for you, I invite you to practice this whenever you need a listening friend.
“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn” wrote Anne Frank from her severe and prolonged isolation. Writing allows us to be present to our pain when no one else can be, to release our sorrows and to find renewal. Ultimately, writing allows us to BE the loving friend that we are so longing for when we feel most alone.
May you find writing to be a welcome, inspiring companion on the long road we are all walking.
