Let me get this straight – y’all out here enjoying writing? You mean writing, expressing in general, doesn’t grip you by the throat like a noose until you’ve choked out the mass of swirling thoughts in your mind? It doesn’t stalk you from the corner of the room, resenting you for not feeding it in days, when in your mind you’ve fed it every hour you’ve been awake and in reality you’ve given it its healthy daily doses? (That sounds like my relationship with Princess Mango.)

What do you enjoy most about writing?

Okay, okay… I suppose I do enjoy writing. But finding enjoyment in the sensation of compulsion requires active effort with every piece that I write. The thing I enjoy most about writing is its catharsis.

Immediate Catharsis from Writing

That text message from the person you’ve spent years trying to get on their feet, the fight your relative tried to pick with you over the phone, the Karen customer who yelled at you for something you didn’t have any responsibility in, or the stank-faced girl at the grocery store you shared an aisle with… all causes for taking a few minutes in the “Letters” folder of my Notes app to jot some choice words down for ’em all. How do you feel about THAT, mom?!

(I hope my mom reads this article and finds it amusing.)

On a serious note, though, me choosing to write that down instead of reacting (which is not always, btw, I am only human) saves relationships or at the least, the peace of the surrounding public. WhO wOuLd hAvE thOuGhT that a safe, private space for reflection would provide such catharsis?

For those of you who refuse to go to therapy (for valid reasons, I’m sure), or turn your noses up at “journaling,” your Notes App can count for at least part of your emotional processing.

I like to imagine that it’s an anonymous column in a newspaper and that my recipient will read it and, with the filter of not knowing it is coming from me, garner some perspective and perhaps modify their behavior if only slightly.

One can dream, at least.

Long-Term Catharsis from Writing

Aged writers likely experience this even more than I – when life (or WordPress, for that matter) in some way prompts you to discuss something that you’ve already written about but have yet to share with the public. You guys know what I’m talking about.

My most recent post about goals was a great example of that. My values-to-goals chart had been written, precisely in my Notes app, many moons ago! And my mind map samples, including Princess Mango’s, were drafted elsewhere for other reasons. So when WordPress goes on to ask me about my own personal goal-getting methods, well, I was thrilled to compile previously-written writings into a cohesive idea. Had I thought to do so before? Certainly. Had I known how or had a purpose? Not quite.

As such, it is cathartic when you are given an opportunity, by life or a social media engagement tactic (for that is what our WP prompts are, no shame), to finally share the thoughts you’d been thinking for a while.

Catharsis from Writing vs. from other activities

Especially for those of you who have read about my endless list of compulsions in my other blog posts, you all may argue that I experience catharsis from too many activities.

My first response is, yeah, and what of it? If catharsis is “the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions,” (Google definition) then the following two statements are true for me: 1) I have many strong and repressed emotions, and 2) I am regularly processing, releasing, and gaining relief from them.

Secondly, however, I’d like to point out how much of a blanket-term catharsis is, given its definition. I feel catharsis when I finish chores – dishes, laundry, vacuuming, cleaning the litter box. I feel catharsis when I finally tell my coworker my opinion about one of her behaviors, even when it’s positive.

But catharsis from writing is very different for me. And more specifically, writing in English. I internalized my immigrant experience as: in order to assimilate, I must communicate perfectly. I have vivid memories of not understanding the mockery other kids made of me on the playground. This sentiment was reinforced when my 9th grade AP World teacher made fun of my pronunciation of elite as “e-light.” (Kind of elitist of her, don’t ya think?)

Catharsis from writing gives me dopamine that validates my success in having properly communicated my thoughts, accurately and meticulously.

Tell me, fellow non-native English speakers, can you relate?