About fifteen years ago, I wrote a short piece for a small-circulation newspaper. The piece was about the town I lived in—and more broadly, it was about the meaning of community. I was proud of the little essay and pleased when a couple people told me they liked it.
Then one day, an acquaintance who had recently moved to the area approached me on the street to tell me that the essay had helped her with a problem. She’d been wrestling with loneliness and a sense of displacement ever since she’d moved to our town. Her unhappiness had been verging on a depression, and she’d been seriously thinking about quitting her job and moving back to the larger city she’d come from. But, after reading my essay, she’d done some thinking about her feelings. She’d begun wondering what she could do to build a sense of community in the town. And she’d taken some steps to make our town feel like home. “It really helped me,” she said. “Instead of feeling depressed, I’m excited about the new beginning I’m making here.”
Then one day, an acquaintance who had recently moved to the area approached me on the street to tell me that the essay had helped her with a problem. She’d been wrestling with loneliness and a sense of displacement ever since she’d moved to our town. Her unhappiness had been verging on a depression, and she’d been seriously thinking about quitting her job and moving back to the larger city she’d come from. But, after reading my essay, she’d done some thinking about her feelings. She’d begun wondering what she could do to build a sense of community in the town. And she’d taken some steps to make our town feel like home. “It really helped me,” she said. “Instead of feeling depressed, I’m excited about the new beginning I’m making here.”
I was astounded. When I wrote the piece, I thought a few readers might find it entertaining, but it had never occurred to me that it might actually help someone.
Most writers are very aware of the ways writing heals their own wounds. But few realize it can also heal others. Yet, every word we write has the potential to help someone else.
Writers heal others in a variety of ways. We offer hope. We provide answers and solutions. We suggest techniques for dealing with difficulties and provide vital information. More importantly, we show others they are not alone: When a reader sees her own experiences mirrored on the page, the sense of community can be powerfully therapeutic.
But we don’t have to be writing self-help books or personal essays about triumph over hardship to help others. A romance novel, an article about how to decorate a child’s room or grow perfect tomatoes, a humorous essay about a trip to the beach—they, too, can offer healing. A few moments of pleasure, laughter, and peace can be one of the most valuable things you give someone who is lonely, sick, or in pain. That, too is a gift of healing.
When I realized that even a quickly tossed-off little essay could have a significant impact on a reader, a subtle but powerful shift took place in my writing. I stopped thinking about my work as a remedy for my own ills alone—although it will always be that—and started seeing it as an act that could have far-reaching consequences for other people.
Coming to terms with your role as a healer can transform your relationship to your writing. The next time you sit down at your desk, remember: No matter what you write, it may offer someone aid at just the time they need it most.
Coming to terms with your role as a healer can transform your relationship to your writing. The next time you sit down at your desk, remember: No matter what you write, it may offer someone aid at just the time they need it most.