I love to write. Occasionally, I have to force myself to do it, but I’m always glad I did. I even enjoy reading what I’ve written. I’ve been known to “like” my own stuff. Sometimes, I even make myself cry.
So, I was pretty interested when someone introduced me to the following article.
Find original article here.
The following are quotes from the article:
“No matter the quality of your prose, the act of writing itself leads to strong physical and mental health benefits, like long-term improvements in mood, stress levels and depressive symptoms.” – Crazy!
“…writing can make physical wounds heal faster” – Are you serious?
“…this act of expressive writing allows people to take a step back and evaluate their lives. Instead of obsessing unhealthily over an event, they can focus on moving forward. By doing so, stress levels go down and health correspondingly goes up.” – Totally
I love this article and I’m inclined to believe the science behind it. The fact is, yesterday was my 41st birthday. I don’t love birthdays. I especially don’t love celebrating my own. In fact, I once cried at my own surprise party, but that’s a story for another day. However, using my birthday as a springboard to inspire my writing (like my past two posts, In Days Before– and 29 Forever. Not Hardly.) -well, that’s something I can feel good about. That’s something even I can love.