What Writing Gives Me When Therapy Isn’t Enough.

Happy Saturday! I hope everyone is well. That you’re starting the year off slow, and with purpose. Me, well I’m hanging in there the best I can right now. Working out some new things and hoping something sticks. That’s the best we can do right? 

Today, we are going to just jump right in on something I find extremely serious. Mental Health…. Something that we all battle on a day to day basis. Whether that is personal or with those around us, we all have someone in our lives that has hidden battles they are fighting.

Fast Facts

More than 1 in 5 U.S. adults experience mental illness each year

More than 1 in 20 U.S. adults experience serious mental illness crisis each year

More than 1 in 7 U.S. youth ages 6-17 experience a mental health disorder each year

50% of all lifetime mental illness begins by age 14, and 75% by age 24

Suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death among people ages 10-24

Only 42.1% of Males and 59.2% of Females seek treatment

79% of people who die by suicide in the U.S. are male

The suicide rate is nearly 4x higher among males than females in the U.S.

Transgender adults are nearly 9x more likely to attempt suicide at some point in their lifetime compared to the general population

*Statics are based off assigned gender at birth* 

https://www.nami.org/about-mental-illness/mental-health-by-the-numbers/

So, you're probably asking yourself, “What does this mean for me?” Well, it means you're not alone. None of us really are. We might not all come from the same background, creed, color, or region of the world. But we all have something very basic in common…. We are all human. We all feel, bleed, and love. 

Therapy can help… I want to say that up front. It gives you language, perspective, and tools. It helps untangle things that you might not be able to name on my own. It teaches how to pause instead of react, how to notice patterns instead of drowning in them.

But sometimes, it isn’t enough. And that's okay too.

In the spirit of honesty and transparency, I personally haven’t gone since I was ordered to do so. I was in elementary school when I started seeing a counselor. They said I had anger issues… what no one dared to ask was why I had those issues. What made me lash out. That’s when I was 6 and started writing. So began the budding author.

After that, it was an on and off thing when it came to therapy. Something would happen at school and land me in front of a professional for 6 to 8 weeks. When it was over, I had more interesting terms for my character. 

It wasn’t until I was pregnant with the gremlin that I was kind of going to therapy. My mom suckered me into a few family sessions under the guise of “it will be good to deal with things before my child was born”. I wouldn’t say it worked for me but it gave me ways of dealing with taking care of both mom and my son.

And even with mom’s passing, June 16th 2024, I haven’t sought out therapy. Not because it won’t work, but because some things don’t want to be processed. They want to be expressed. They want somewhere to go that isn’t linear, polite, or solution-oriented. They want to RAGE. 

That’s where writing steps in. It’s the safest way of processing without actually laying my hands on another person. I can’t say my characters have not been the victims of my wrath. Or had to play out situations that I have personally been through. Their outcome came out a little better than mine did by the end of the story. 

But in the end writing gives me a place where I don’t have to explain the context before debating how much truth comes out. Where I can contradict myself, circle the same wound, say the wrong thing first. It lets me lay everything out without being asked “what I’m going to do about it”, “how did that make you feel”, or my personal favorite “Did you pray about it?”

On the page, nothing needs to be fixed immediately if at all…. Hell in the end it all becomes character development, or plot twists.

Writing doesn’t rush me toward healing. It lets me sit inside the mess long enough to understand its shape. It holds the anger, the grief, the numbness—without trying to smooth it into something inspirational. Because in the end PAIN should never be used that way. If it inspires you to do something different, that's one thing. If you can use it later down the line as a cautionary tale, even better. But this isn’t a “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” 

There are thoughts I can only reach when I’m not being witnessed in real time. Emotions that show up sideways, through metaphor and rhythm and fragments. Writing gives those parts permission to exist without judgment. 

It also gives me distance. An outside looking in perspective. Because sometimes it's looking at it from all the different angles that helps us learn how to handle it differently. Sometimes that’s all we need. 

When something lives on the page, it no longer lives rent free in my head. I can look at it. Shape it. Decide what stays and what gets revised. That control—small as it is—matters when the world feels unmanageable. And worse case, you can always set fire to it and cast it out. It no longer serves you. And now it doesn’t serve anyone cause it doesn’t exist any longer.

Therapy helps most survive the darkness, writing is what helps me. Both have their place. Both are necessary. But when the talking stalls, when insight doesn’t bring relief, when coping tools feel blunt—writing is where I go to remember myself.

I’m in no way an expert on any of this, but I am one of the many that has suffered through trauma in spades, abuse of all kinds, and now stands here a little wiser, a whole lot crazier, and a wholeheartedly unapologetically me. 

So, I want you to do one thing for me as we navigate another season of uncertainty. Breathe. Just fucking Breathe. Then pick up a notebook, scrap of paper, hell a napkin if you can make it work, and give me three reasons why you need to stay. Cause I can give you one right off the bat. The World Will Not Be The Same Without You In IT. Now your turn. And every time the world gets loud or your brain tells you shit that isn’t true. Do it again.

When words fail you out loud, where do you go instead? What gives you release when talking it through isn’t enough? Tell me in the comments—or keep it close and write it out for yourself. Remember there are resources out there that can help. 

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

Writing the Wounds I Don’t Talk About Out Loud

Some wounds never really close. People like to say “time heals,” but I don’t buy it. Time just teaches you how to carry the weight differently. Some days it’s lighter. Some days it drags you down so far you wonder if you’ll ever stand straight again. And more often than not it's the anchor around your feet pulling you into the deep, never to return to the surface. 

I don’t always talk about those wounds out loud. Some of them are too messy, too complicated, too full of jagged edges that other people don’t want to see. But I do write them.

When I write, I let the cracks show. I let the anger and grief and heartbreak slip through the words. I let my characters say the things I can’t. I let them break down in ways I’m too tired or too stubborn to. I let them rage against the unfairness that I’ve learned to just…live with.

It doesn’t make the pain disappear, but it transforms it. On the page, it’s not just mine anymore. It’s part of a story. It’s a piece of something bigger. And sometimes, that’s the only way I can survive it—by turning it into something that doesn’t just sit in the dark corners of my chest.

The truth is, writing the wounds I don’t say out loud is scary. It means admitting the pain is real. It means facing things I’d rather keep buried. But every time I do, I feel lighter. Not because the wounds are healed, but because they’re acknowledged. They’re seen.

And maybe that’s why readers connect with these kinds of stories so fiercely. We all carry wounds we don’t talk about. We all have those shadows that creep in at night or sit quietly behind our smiles. When I write mine, I’m not just bleeding onto the page—I’m holding out a hand and saying, “Me too.”

So no, time doesn’t heal all wounds. But writing? Writing gives me a way to keep walking with them. To give them meaning instead of just pain. To let them live in the light, even when I can’t bring myself to speak to them out loud.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

The Scene I Didn’t Know Was About Me

    Sometimes as writers, we think we’re pulling a scene out of thin air, when in all actuality we are tapping into memories. Some of which we would like buried under lock and key in the same place as Atlantis. It’s never just my imagination, just characters I let live rent free in my head, or just a plot that has the readers begging for more. Every now and then, the words on the page feel a little too familiar. Like we didn’t write them so much as uncovering something we’d been carrying all along.

That happened to me recently with my works in progress Cuts and Cufflinks, Through Diamond Eyes, and a few times in Crossroads. But let's face facts… there is at least one or more scenes in each of my stories that ripped me to bits and forced me to confront hard truths. But this time I get to control the narrative even if the situation still has to happen.

I wrote a scene that I swore was about my character. Her fear, her defiance, her sharp tongue masking a breaking heart. The lie that it was her strength that got her through when the cards had been stacked against her from the get go. But when I stepped back, I realized it was my eyes on that page staring back at me. My own storm, my own memories, my own scars had bled onto the page. Things I have kept, under lock and key, slipped through my fingers and disguised themselves as fiction.

And while completely unintentional and caught off guard, I now stand with a choice. Recognize and rewrite the scene or leave it alone. Because things no one really discusses about writing is its therapy. Sometimes our subconscious is braver than we are. It will tell the truths we don’t dare say out loud. And once you see it, you can’t unsee it. But would you want to?

That scene reminded me that writing isn’t just storytelling. It’s survival. It’s the way we process what we’ve endured and prove to ourselves we’re still standing. Characters that thought they were alone in that moment. Turns out, they had me all along, and that’s more powerful. 

Maybe that’s why readers connect so deeply with the things we write. Because even when we don’t realize it, pieces of us bleed through the ink. The scene I didn’t know was about me? It still hits hard but it doesn’t scare me anymore. Why? Because this time, I didn’t have to lie about it. There is no longer fear attached to the words that were said or the actions that were done. Let’s face it, my FMCs hold their own, as I held mine. 

Taking power back has many different faces. Which one of your characters showed yours?

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

The Trauma Behind the Trope

Tropes aren’t necessarily where we start as storytellers, but by the time we are done, you have all the key players falling into some sort of category. With the explosion of booktok and other social media platforms, let's just say things have gotten interesting in the last few years. Especially in regard to people, women most definitely, being open about what they like to read. 

You all know the more popular of those tropes. The broken guy who drinks too much. The girl with scars no one can see. The lone wolf who doesn’t need anyone… until they do. The brooding man and his need to be the hero. The broken woman, who’s the damsel in distress. The list really does go on and on depending on where you fall.

Readers eat these stories up, and writers keep dishing them out as fast as possible to stay relevant. And on the surface, it looks like just another cliché. Between the tragic backstory, the “trauma dump” that explains why a character is so messed up to the woman that can “fix” him. But here’s the thing: behind every trope like that, there’s a very real thread of truth. Pain doesn’t come out of nowhere. Neither do the stories we tell.

For some of us, writing that broken character isn’t just about moving the plot forward. It's about survival. A survival that no one would really believe unless they stepped into our shoes. It’s about bleeding on the page in a way that feels safe. It’s about giving our own trauma a name, a face, a storyline, so it doesn’t eat us alive in silence. Because in the end we control the narrative where we didn’t have the chance to before. 

The problem comes when trauma gets turned into shorthand. When a writer slaps on a tragic backstory without thinking it through. “Daddy issues.” “Dead mom.” “Addicted brother.” “War vet with nightmares.” You’ve seen it. And when it’s handled that way, the trope stops being a reflection of real pain and starts being a gimmick. Trauma reduced to a buzzword that sells books instead of bringing understanding.

Here’s the truth no one wants to admit: trauma changes people in ways that are messy, contradictory, and sometimes plain ass ugly. It doesn’t follow a neat three-act structure, with character development and sometimes a redemption arc. It makes you withdraw, it makes you lash out, and it can make you do both in the span of an hour, because confronting it on the page is no different than confronting it in real life. 

That’s why it’s important for writers to handle it with care, so these tropes stop being cheapened and start being powerful. The broken man isn’t just broken. He is resilience wrapped in leather and tattoos. The scarred girl isn’t just a victim. She's navigating what survival looks like in a world that tried to take her out of the equation. The lone wolf isn’t actually alone. They're just terrified of trusting anyone again, for fear of reliving the nightmare. 

And yeah, sometimes writing those characters means ripping open the old wounds to remember the terror, disbelief, and fear. It puts pieces of yourself on the page that you’d never confess out loud. That’s the part readers rarely see: the writer behind the trope, the person who knows what the weight of that silence feels like. And the stone eyes, only we can describe with perfect clarity because we look at them everyday in the mirror. 

See, it’s not the tropes that are the problem. The lack of truth and conviction behind the story written for the masses. The lack of education into what is put on the page. For some it's their lives, for others… Well, let's just say they’ve made a healthy living off of cookie cutter material because it sells. It’s a card that has been played so many times that a lot of readers can predict the ending from a lot of authors by what they’ve previously done.

For some, it is what it is. They are making good money following the same formula. For those of us that broke away from that or never really played on that kind of field, it can be exhausting. But I live by this simple rule when it comes to that. I write for me, if it makes a difference great, if not well I already did the damn thing.  

So the next time you see that “overdone tragic backstory,” I want you to pause for a second. Ask yourself: is it lazy writing, or is it someone quietly telling you the hardest part of their story in the only way they know how? Is this someone finally working through their issues and exercising their demons or is it someone that sees this as trending information?

Because behind every trope is a trauma, behind every trauma is a person, and behind every person is a situation that didn’t play out that well in real life. 

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

Ink, Rage, and Reclamation

Happy Thursday everyone. How's everyone's week going so far? Are we hanging in there? Good. If not, chin up, shoulders back and remember you're a badass. Today, we are starting a new topic for Thursdays. As in I have thought about it, and now I’m actually going to do it. LMAO. Thursday’s are going to be titled Ink-Stained Secrets. Also, If you read to the end you will be able to see what each day’s topic actually is. Alright on with the show.

Some if not most days, the pen feels heavier than it should. For what pours out of that ink is a world that I have cultivated, characters that chose me to tell their story, and real life issues everyone can half ass relate to. It's an emotionally taxing job. You're holding someone else’s  anger, frustration, and chaos that words usually can’t contain only actions. And some days, that weight is exactly what I need.

Because truth be told, a shit ton of what’s on that paper, is someone’s therapy. Dealing with complex situations, emotions, and trauma. Playing it back hoping that the character can hold out just long enough to either escape or have their knight show up in a search and rescue. Hoping the whole time, you're not turning off or disengaging the reader.

I’ve learned that rage doesn’t always have to destroy, or be destructive. It can create. Sitting down with a blank page, a notebook, or even just a stream of typed words, I pour the chaos onto it. The house still isn’t perfect, the bills still loom, and the world keeps spinning, but in that moment, I reclaim something that feels like mine: control, expression, clarity. Because like my characters, It was never my fucking fault.

You know I have been accused by my besties (Izzy and Patrick) that I cause unnecessary trauma to my characters. Especially the female ones that walk through literal fire, to come out the fucking reborn Pheniox on the other side. That’s not a by chance thing. It is very much a clue into the situation I have overcome. 

Because any author that says there isn’t at least a little bit of self insert into their books is either lying to themselves or cookie cutter. Which is very much a “you do you boo”. I’m personally out there in left field and everyone already knows it. I don’t hide who I really am. The same person you see on Saturday Night’s over on Twitch (Hold My Pen Promptcast 7c/8e) is the same person you will meet at a signing event. Also, the same person you will see at Wal-Mart. 

My writing doesn’t erase the trauma, but it sure as hell gives it a shape, a rhythm, a container. It transforms the noise in your head into something tangible. Something you can confront, understand, and, little by little, master. Ink, paint, keys, brushes, whatever medium you choose, becomes the battleground where rage turns into reclamation. And Guess what, sweetheart? NO ONE HAS TO LIKE IT BUT YOU! Fuck what anyone else’s opinion happens to be on the subject. It isn’t about them… It’s about you.

So tell me: when was the last time you let your ink, your words, or your art reclaim your power? How did it feel to turn chaos into something tangible? Because raw emotion is just creative energy begging for somewhere to go, be seen, and really be felt.

Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble

Mondays — Chaos from the Keyboard (Writing, Creativity, Author Life)

Tuesdays — Plot Holes & Panic Buttons (writer quirks, plot rants, chaotic craft moments)

Wednesdays — Juggling Chainsaws & Mental Health (Mental Load, Healing, Survival)

Thursday — Ink-Stained Secrets (trauma, introspection, personal revelations)

Fridays — Mom Mode: Engaged (Parenting, Special Needs, Family Chaos)