The Power of the Pen

Almost 20 years ago, I had my first “dark night of the soul.” I was physically ill with a chronic disease that doctors couldn’t properly diagnose, which resulted in multi-system failures and two surgeries. I tried everything the doctors and holistic practitioners told me to do and for five years, I couldn’t find my way back to health.

My magazine had recently gone bankrupt, and I had taken a stressful job in an unhealthy environment. A move placed me far away from the people I loved, so I felt isolated and lonely. All of it took its toll; I fell into a deep depression. I felt stuck in quicksand with no hope in sight. Most of all, I remember feeling the weight of sadness inside of me and that if I contemplated it for just one second, it would crush me. So, I did the only thing I knew how at the time: I went numb. I closed myself off from feeling. From the sadness but also the joy.

A few heart-centered friends introduced me to meditation and journaling. At the time, I said, How could writing or meditation help heal a body? I completely dismissed my mental health as part of my well-being. But I had tried everything, and nothing worked. I was desperate. I bought a journal and started going to a meditation class. I didn’t realize how drastically this would change the course of my life. I started writing every day, forcing myself to write until the timer chimed. It was hard at first, but it eased something in me. The pressure decreased, and my spirit slowly lifted.

I spent time in meditation, learning to quiet my mind and be non-judgmental toward the good and bad thoughts that came rushing when I was silent. I was surprised to find a lot of frustration and anger buried within me. I had never thought of myself as angry. So, I wrote about it, pages and pages of the what, when, how, and who done me wrong. I kept asking, “Why did this happen to me?” But the answers never came. Maybe the lesson was for me to finally pay attention to my inner voice. The silence, uncomfortable at first, became a familiar space where I could safely process my emotions. I started to feel things I had avoided for years. Some of the things that surfaced I didn’t like, but it was just me sitting with myself, learning who I was.

After a while, my pen slowed, and my writing started to express deeper feelings of unrest, unexplored darkness, and self-beliefs hiding underneath stories of “I’m not good enough,” or “my voice doesn’t matter.” My focus turned inward rather than on others and the rest of the world. Once I faced my demons, or rather my authentic truths, I could shift the feelings and have compassion for myself. Clarity gave me compassion. I could turn the page and move on from many things that had gathered cobwebs in my mind.

I never thought of a pen as a healing tool, so this surprised me, and I enthusiastically threw myself into the practice, even later becoming a teacher of meditative writing. (You teach what you need the most!) With each passing month, my mind felt clearer and sharper, and I started to understand the motivation behind my actions and reactions. Once I saw a pattern—when I knew what I didn’t know before—I could change it or at least love myself through it.

Over time, the numbness thawed, and I felt safe to feel again. The heavy weight lifted, and I got my spark back. I gradually became more grounded and peaceful. Meditation became a safe haven and silence and stillness a refuge.

On certain days, especially when writing after a deep meditation, I would sometimes write words that were so beautiful and poignant that I’d tell myself I must have tapped into something bigger than me because I can’t write like this! Then I’d catch my limiting belief surfacing and say, Never mind, I can, and I did. Divine source or not, I found a deep conduit from my pen to soul wisdom, which helped bring me back to wellness.

There will always be storms. I don’t have control over them, but I know that my actions directly affect the outcome and how resilient I am at rising after a storm. I learned years ago that what I do in my everyday life ensures that I survive the harder days with the resilience to keep me afloat and manage my stress.

I recently went through breast cancer. There were some horrible days. But through it all, the ink flowed. I spent many sleepless nights in pain, barely able to hold a pen, but the words came and soothed my soul. The depth of insight that poured from this illness was profound. It changed me in ways I’m still discovering, still integrating this whole pivotal experience. Meditative writing has helped me stay grounded through the worst times.

There is lightness and a sense of empowerment in caring for my own mental health. In a noisy world that bets on my distraction to make money, there is power in stillness, in quietly observing, and knowing myself. When I see myself clearly, I understand others better and can extend kindness and compassion in a way I did not know how before.

What I do today determines how I live tomorrow. My daily practice has grown to include many things since then, all key elements in steadying me when life knocks me down. But these first steps helped me rebuild trust in myself, my body, and in life.

Solitude and stillness aren’t loneliness or laziness: it’s self-care. It’s radical self-love. When what I think, what I say, and what I do is in alignment, my heart radiates joy.

Carole Fontaine is the award-winning author of the SAIL Above the Clouds series and a sailor of storms, teacher of hearts, and book whisperer, guiding women to transform fire into wisdom and dreams into books.