10/28/2026
When I was a child, I coped with what was known and what remained hidden in my early traumas by searching desperately for creative solutions.
I practiced my handwriting. I wrote secretly. I learned copper enameling. I read for hours. I went to dance school. I ice skated. I tried — and failed — to teach myself sign language.
And I wandered. Five long city blocks north, then twenty blocks through our suburban downtown — the Dutch Mill Candy Store, Mrs. Barkley’s Book House, Woolworth’s 5 & Dime. Never any money. Just wandering for hours until dark beckoned, and I would head home feeling like “The Little Match Girl.”
After thirty years as a psychoanalyst, I’ve come to understand what I was doing: the essential self, burdened by wounds it couldn’t yet name, was finding its way to
expression. Creativity was not a skill. It was a state of being — the natural overflow of a self still trying to survive.
When healing has done its work, what was hidden becomes expressible. The healing life is creative not because it is free from difficulty, but because difficulty no longer consumes all available energy.
Writing is one of the most direct paths to that discovery. This week’s Living Your Healing email goes to the heart of this.
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