Write Your Way to Recovery

Write Your Way to Recovery

Here’s a method I created that helped me find peace. Maybe it will help you. I call it: Look at Your Life in Reverse

Here’s the benefit:

When you revisit a memory as an adult, you might see it with gentler eyes.

Here’s how to begin:

1. Take out a sheet of paper and think about a topic you’d like to recall.

1. Choose someone or something meaningful—a parent, a teacher, a first love, a job, a turning point.
2. Write down one incident connected to them. Just a phrase or a quick description.
3. Another memory will appear. Then another. Let them come.

Some memories will bring joy. Others may sting. Both are valuable because each holds a lesson. Releasing repressed memories is one way people have induced spontaneous remission. (Cure book citatation)

You might learn something unexpected about yourself. You might even learn something you’ve avoided.

As you collect these memories, patterns emerge. Not all of them are flattering and that’s okay. You might find:

• You withdrew when you could have reached out.
• You were harsher on yourself than anyone else was.
• You misunderstood moments that weren’t about you at all.

Once you see these patterns, you have the chance to change them. The diagnosis you received has a way of sharpening what truly matters.

This work is humbling. But it’s real. And it’s yours.

Here’s my example. Maybe it will help you get started on recalling your memories.

For example, I remember my grandmother making breakfast for me:  a soft-boiled egg with puffed rice. She’d bribe me to eat it by giving me a nickel. I was a finicky child. I’d eat breakfast and run to the candy store a block away and buy a pack of baseball cards or a comic book with the nickel.

What does this story mean? It doesn’t have to mean anything! It can simply be a sweet memory. And shouldn’t life be full sweet memories?

I found that when I thought of one memory, another memory would pop into my head. Soon, I could hardly keep up with writing down all the memories flooding my brain! Where had all these memories been hiding? They brought such joy!

I’m not proud of what I just wrote. It’s humbling. It’s vulnerable. But it’s real.

Reframing Old Stories

Perhaps when you look at the stories of your childhood with the eyes of an adult, you’ll realize the problem wasn’t with something you did or thought, but with something another person did.

I did.

Here are two stories I thought about and realized I was thinking about them all wrong.

When I was five, my brother tried to teach me to ride a bike. He held the back of the seat as I started pedaling. I felt safe as long as he was there. But when I looked over my shoulder, I realized he had let go. The moment I saw his hand wasn’t on the bike, I panicked and fell. I remember the blood, the crying, and thinking he was a complete jerk for letting go.

But looking back as an adult, I can see it differently. That’s exactly how almost everyone learns to ride a bike. He wasn’t abandoning me. He was giving me the chance to balance on my own. No one can keep up with the speed of a bike. He had to let go. I just couldn’t see it then.

Years later, on a second date, I drove a woman home in a heavy downpour. The date had been OK. Not great. Not terrible. When we pulled up to her apartment, I leaned in to kiss her. She pulled back, opened the door, and ran to her building. I sat there thinking, Wow. Was the date really that bad? Did she need to run away from me?

For years, I interpreted that moment as rejection. Eventually, I replayed it and realized something embarrassingly obvious: it was raining. Of course, she ran. She wasn’t fleeing me. She was fleeing the weather.

Well, maybe it had something to do with me, but I didn’t feel the sting of rejection any longer.

Patterns Emerge

Of course, some memories brought pain and sorrow. That’s part of the process. When you see those incidents, you can start to make sense of them.

You’ll learn more about yourself.

That’s because you’ll see patterns emerge from those stories.

I realized I’m really bad at maintaining relationships. I have great friends, but I don’t call them often enough, and they don’t call me often enough. I recognized I needed to be a better friend.

I also realized many humbling things.

I realized I could have been nicer to my mother and uncle. I’ll stop there. We can always be kinder to people.

I realized that being an introvert has not served me.

I realized I’ve been a jerk.

Here’s the upshot: Once you realize your issues, you can take steps to resolve them. Now that you have received a diagnosis, you have an incentive to correct and improve.

As you review these memories, ask yourself, “What can I learn from this? What could I do differently?”

Your Story Matters

You have moments like these, too. Memories that can change shape when viewed with adult clarity.

You don’t have to write beautifully.
You don’t have to write a book.
You don’t have to write for anyone but yourself.

You just have to write honestly.

When you examine your life with adult eyes, things shift. Sometimes subtly, sometimes dramatically. You stop being the character who suffers through the plot. You become the narrator who understands it.

Writing won’t fix everything. But it can heal more than you expect.

Not all wounds disappear. But many loosen their grip.

Now that you have a diagnosis, maybe it is time to be honest with yourself.

You might find that incidents get better when you look at life in reverse. When you rewrite your past to show that you were in control, you can live in peace.

Does time heal all wounds? I don’t know. Everyone is different. But when you examine incidents from your life, you might find that things weren’t so bad. I certainly hope that’s the case for you. Maybe you’ll see what was wrong, and now you have the chance to improve upon it.

When you rewrite your past with the eyes of an adult, things start to soften. You see new truths.

You heal old wounds. When you look at your life in reverse, harsh memories might soften. You can reinterpret them—sometimes in ways that free you.

You might recall good times you forgot about. They can bring you joy.

If you don’t like to write or want to write, simply thinking about these prompts might have the same positive effect.

Here’s another way to get started.

When I was a newspaper reporter, these questions always produced a good story:

These questions always work:

• What was the biggest or best…?
• What was the worst…?
• What was your first…?
• What was your last…?

For example:

• What was your best vacation?
• What was your worst job?
• Who was your first love?
• What was your last great surprise?

You’ll be amazed at how many memories this exercise will produce. And how much they have to teach you.