Healing through words, one page at a time

It’s funny how we evolve. I started journaling in college, mostly pouring my heart out after breakups or hurt feelings—writing was how I handled pain.

Recently, I went back through those old journals. Some entries still carried the sting. Others stood as reminders. And a few made me laugh out loud. But when I reached the ones about my husband, there were only six. Each marked a challenge we were facing, and after that, the pages grew silent.

Why? Because the story didn’t end there, on paper. The words lived on in the life we built together over our twenty-five years of marriage. Looking back, I realized the real journal was our life itself. Those who shared in our union saw it unfold—the milestones, the children, the good times, and the struggles.

And now, I find myself writing again—like that 19-year-old girl, only braver. What once was private now lives in the open, and through that sharing, I’m finding pieces of healing.

I even found a poem I wrote during those college years. How remarkable that its words echo my present truth:

Today
I think of how things used to be
Hands holding
Arms embracing
Smiles meeting
Yesterday we had it all

Today
I thought of everything we shared
Our endless talks
The quiet moments
The hearty laughter
Yesterday we had it all

Today
I missed the time that slipped away
The days
The nights
The moments together
Yesterday we had it all

Today
Our hands don’t hold
And our smiles don’t meet
Day and night
Night and day

Who can tell the difference now?
I can’t.

Our moments together are our moments apart
And my laughter isn’t happy anymore.

Today
I finally realized
That yesterday is gone forever.

Maybe one day the pages will hold laughter again.
But for now, they hold the pain and grief that redefined me.
And maybe tomorrow, these words will remind me that love—even in its absence—still writes on.