One of the most poignant responses I’ve received from readers of my book is from a woman who divulged a shocking childhood secret. Grim details aside, it came with the all-too-common heartbreaking motifs of adverse childhood experiences – abuse, violation of trust, not being believed.

As this reader described how the incident had affected her life, I was surprised to find myself most pained by her saying, “I always wanted to share my story, but I’m not a writer like you.” Recalling author Maya Angelou’s famous words, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you,” it was a moment that brought home to me the power of writing.

As the lost child that I wrote about in my book – domestic violence, emotional abuse, neglect, and parental separation were some of the hallmarks of my early life – the trauma I experienced was compounded by silence and secrecy, and I learned early on the weight of untold stories.

Being a highly imaginative child who loved storytelling, I had a natural propensity for writing, and I soon discovered that what we struggle to utter out loud can be expressed on the page.

By my adolescence, journaling had become almost imperative. It gave me a voice in a world where I felt I had no voice. On the page, I could say what I was really feeling. I could articulate the complexities of my experience without fear or judgment. I could tell the truth.

At the time, I was hardly crafting my experiences into a piece of art that I could share with others. I was simply putting words to them. Writing didn’t change my reality; it didn’t get me the help I needed. But putting it on paper was not only cathartic, it gave me a sense of agency. It was only years later that I would understand how profoundly transformative finding solace in the written word can be.

The benefits of writing about trauma have been studied for decades. Research published in the 1980s by American social psychologist James W. Pennebaker and his colleagues demonstrated the impact of expressive writing on physical and mental health. Pennebaker’s later research suggested that the positive outcomes of expressive writing are linked to some of the valued attributes of writing, such as meaning-making and affect labelling.

More recently, a 2018 study funded by North Carolina’s Duke Integrative Medicine found that a six-week writing intervention that included expressive, poetic, and mindful writing prompts increased resilience and decreased depressive symptoms, perceived stress, and rumination in participants.

So while writing may not be therapy, certain guided writing practices can provide effective tools for healing and processing trauma. Life writing – from autobiographies and memoirs to diaries and journals – can be an effective part of mental health care. Expressive writing can be used to manage symptoms of PTSD and can even promote post-traumatic growth. 

It must be noted that writing alone is no substitute for professional treatment. True recovery takes commitment and effort and often requires a multifaceted approach, incorporating evidence-based therapies like cognitive-behavioural therapy or EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), as well as dedicated support systems.

Nevertheless, adopting a writing practice can reinforce certain skills that can apply to other parts of life – namely the discipline and resilience it takes to sit down and write regularly; the perspective gained in becoming a narrator of your story rather than a victim; the self-awareness you gain from observing and making meaning of your experiences. The process of writing can correlate with the process of rebuilding – piece by piece, sentence by sentence. In this way, writing can help you withstand even the worst adversity.

Expressive writing “has downstream effects not only for those who have endured very negative experiences, such as trauma, but for almost anyone,” according to a recent study by researchers Brynne C. DiMenichi, Ahmet O. Ceceli, Jamil P. Bhanji, and Elizabeth Tricomi.

Some of what I wrote when I was growing up worked its way into my manuscript when it was time for me to share my story. By then, I had turned my penchant for writing into a professional career, and I could apply restraint and skill to construct a narrative structure that leaves space for a reader to bear witness to my experience and process their own stories through my rendering of it.

But the truth is, you do not need to be a writer, or even think of yourself as a writer, to reap the healing benefits of this practice. The act of writing is inherently human, transcending notions of skill or expertise. So, to anyone harbouring a story within, I urge you to write and to write without inhibition or expectation. Write without concern for structure, lyricism, or grammar. Write to reclaim your voice, to honour your truth, and to forge a path toward healing.

Then if you do decide to chisel and shape your words into something you can share, you may experience the other form of healing that comes from making someone else feel less alone. The comfort that comes from knowing that your vulnerability and diligence could help free someone else to tell their story.

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Fanen Chiahemen is the author of the memoir Never Make A Sound. She was shortlisted for the 2021 VMI Betsy Warland Between Genres Award. She helps survivors find transformation in overcoming adversity. Sign up for her free monthly educational and insightful tools for healing and receive the first chapter of her remarkable story of survival by visiting her website nevermakeasound.com. Follow her on Instagram @never_make_a_sound.