I Write Because I Forgot How to Breathe

I Write Because I Forgot How to Breathe

Creative Side of Me – A Quiet Return Through Words. I didn’t write to be heard. I wrote to breathe again. This is my personal story of how writing became healing, stillness, and a quiet way home.

There was a time I didn’t know I had stopped breathing.
I still moved. Still worked. Still smiled when expected.
But inside, something was curled tight —
like lungs holding in too much for too long.

When Life Got Too Loud

I didn’t plan to become a writer.
I planned to be productive. To be efficient. To be enough.
And in the noise of that chase, I forgot the sound of my own thoughts.

Meetings, deadlines, updates, notifications —
they built walls around me.
And soon, I was only living in the spaces between them.

It wasn’t burnout that woke me.
It was silence.
One quiet afternoon when I sat down with a pen,
and something inside whispered:
“Write. Not for anyone else. Just to hear yourself again.”

Writing Became Breath

At first, I wrote like someone relearning how to walk.
Short sentences. Fragments. Words I didn’t show anyone.

But each word gave me air.
Each page was an exhale I didn’t know I needed.

I wasn’t trying to sound wise.
I wasn’t chasing publication.
I was just… remembering.

This was writing as healing.
Not for perfection.
But for presence.

Slowing Down with Every Paragraph

The more I wrote, the slower I lived.
Not because I had more time —
but because I started noticing it.

I saw how morning light touched the windowsill.
I heard the quiet hum of water boiling for tea.
I felt my breath again — not in the chest, but in the soul.

Writing didn’t solve everything.
But it gave me a rhythm that wasn’t borrowed from the world.
It was mine.

Why I Still Write

Now, I write not because I have something profound to say,
but because I don’t want to forget how to be still.

I write to touch the part of me that doesn’t care about algorithms.
To sit beside the quiet child inside me who never asked for applause — only to be seen.

This blog, this space, this moment with you —
it’s not a performance.
It’s a breath.
And maybe, if you’re reading this,
it’s yours too.

 
Closing – Writing Isn’t Just Expression. It’s Home.
I don’t write because I’m strong.
I write because I’m learning to soften.
Because words hold me when the world feels too sharp.
Because sometimes,
writing is the only way I know how to say:
“I’m still here. And I’m still trying.” Writing has become my quiet, creative healing journey — not away from life, but deeper into it.

So if you’ve forgotten how to breathe,
maybe don’t start with a plan.
Start with a sentence.
And let it carry you back.

👉 Why I Chose Writing Over Speed – Notes from a Quiet Mind
👉 How Writing Became My Quiet Revolution – A Journey of Healing and Creative Freedom