I’ve been writing since I was 15½ years old. Back then, I was even ordered to buy my AA sponsor when I got sober for marijuana. In the 12-step program, step four is to make a "searching and fearless moral inventory." Although that phrase may sound archaic, it simply means we’re meant to write about ourselves—our present experiences, our past, our fears, our sins, and our deepest wounds. Essentially, it’s an invitation to explore the mind.
When I first started, my writing was as simple as a schoolchild’s journal: “Today, I went to school at 9 o’clock. The teacher made me mad.” As I grew older, I noticed that when I experienced anxiety—an undefined, negative pressure on my body—I had no one to talk to. I hadn’t built a network of mentors or trusted confidants. Then the digital age arrived, and with laptops, smartphones, and digital notepads, writing became easier than ever.
During disputes with my partner, I would type out paragraphs to vent my resentment. Over time, I realized that my anxiety stemmed from feeling wounded by my partner, much like a child might feel hurt by an adult. I came to understand that both of us were, often unconsciously, engaging in behaviors that set the stage for conflict. After an argument, I began to write about my own contributions to the discord, not just my partner’s actions. This introspection revealed that the only part of my life I could truly change was my own behavior.
I also discovered that, in her own painful way, my partner was showing me what I needed to heal my deepest wounds. I’ve often experienced relationships where, after a brief moment of intimacy, the connection would dissolve—overwhelmed by external pressures like job stress and daily worries. By the time we could navigate these challenges together, the effort seemed too great.
As Dr. Harvey Hendrix theorizes in his exploration of human relationships, intimacy is a dance between two traumatized children. We desperately yearn for connection, yet the moment true intimacy is within reach, we tend to retreat.