Diary of a Novelist: Healing a Broken Voice


Heartbreak comes when you least expect it, in ways often unimagined. It camouflages itself behind friendships ending in silence. It slips into your life as other names: Anxiety, adjustment, discomfort from a fresh start.

Regardless of how it comes and what it calls itself, heartbreak is heartbreak.

And it shatters deep, significant parts of us.

Months ago, I began the search to find my voice. I progressed, failed—I realized the journey would take much longer than anticipated because heartbreak silenced me. Pain stole my joy, and the lack of joy ruined my ability to express and speak as myself. Believe me, I fought pain’s smothering hands—I struggled to break free from an invisible cage and a current of memories that told me I’m not good enough, I’m forgotten and discarded. I beat my fists against the bars of hurt, but fighting only wounded me more.

Truth is—I count the lowest points of my life on my fingers. I remember where I was when the shattering occurred, what I thought and how I felt. I healed, but I broke again-and-again.

Heartbreak equalizes us. It offers a crossroad where we have the choice to either speak up against the pain or fall victim to its suffocating hold. Once purpose merges with pain, the pain loses its power on us and instead becomes a tool powerful enough to help others.

Why should we remain silent when our raw, vulnerable words could change lives?

In retrospect, I avoided the writing process because each time I touched my laptop’s overused keys, I unraveled into a puddle of vulnerability . . . and what I let out never returned—it spewed from me like a hemorrhoid, and no amount of shoving could put it into place.

Things I learned from the fight against heartbreak:

-        Words derived from pain bear an authenticity attractive to readers because people, regardless of their backgrounds, experience all levels of pain. Hurt unites us, places a common ground beneath our feet.

-        When we reveal our pain, we give ourselves the chance to heal.

-        The fight hurts worse than the fall.

As I conclude this blog post diary entry, I wish I could offer an easy-to-follow equation to help you find your voice, but I still look for my own. Each time I unravel and let my pain show, I remove a little more of the shroud camouflaging my voice. One day, I’ll find it.

My takeaway for you: Your voice matters. Write. Speak. Allow purpose to mesh with your pain so your heartbreak won’t be in vain.

Search for your voice even if the process hurts.