Little Hope Notes

I fell in love with creative writing when I was 11 years old. I can still remember the first poem I wrote—a page and a half written in a glittery purple gel pen in a Lisa Frank notebook about a whimsical world called Egglobum. It was the first time I felt like I could have a (very silly) idea and bring it to life on paper.

Back then, writing was simply a fun exercise for my imagination.

Soon, I quickly fell heads-over-heels in love with writing when I began using it to process big emotions. Weaving the unsayable with creative prose was a sacred space for me to simply be.

When you live with chronic illness, grief can become a silent companion. You grieve your energy, your abilities, your plans, and sometimes, the version of yourself you were before pain or fatigue became your norm. That kind of loss isn’t always visible to others, and it doesn’t follow a linear timeline. It lingers in the background, sometimes roaring, sometimes whispering, but always present.

Creative writing became the place where I could be fully honest with myself about that grief. And more than that—it became a way for me to find hope again.

Reigniting the Flame

Recently, I read a book that felt like it was written just for me. Brave the Page explores the connection between writing, creativity, and somatic healing. It reminded me that creativity doesn’t just live in the mind—it lives in the body too. In fact, my body depends on my creativity to release trauma and heal old wounds.

Somatic therapy is a body-centered approach to healing that focuses on the connection between the mind, emotions, and physical sensations. When we experience trauma or ongoing stress (like chronic illness), our bodies hold onto that experience. Somatic practices—like movement, breathwork, and even creative expression—help release some of what gets stored.

The book emphasized how creativity is more than a hobby; it’s a tool for healing. As I read, I could feel that long-dormant spark reigniting. My writing has been sporadic over the years. Seeing writing through the lens of healing, made me wonder if maybe this first love has been waiting for me to see her in a new way.

Finding Peace in What You Love

Having a hobby you genuinely love—something that brings you peace—is essential when you’re navigating a life with chronic illness. It doesn’t have to be writing. It could be painting, gardening, baking, or building Lego sets. The point is not what it looks like—it’s how it feels.

When so much of your life feels out of your control, these tiny acts of creation help you reclaim your sense of self. They remind you that you’re more than your diagnosis. You’re still someone who can create beauty, connection, and joy, even in the midst of hardship.

Your Story Matters

If you’re reading this and walking through your own valley of grief—whether it’s related to illness, loss, or change—I want you to know that your story matters.

You don’t need to be a “writer” to write. You don’t need to be a “creative” to create. You just need a place to be honest, to feel, and to let yourself hope again.

Whether you scribble lines in a journal, write lyrics on your phone, or type stories no one else will read, you’re doing something sacred. You’re processing the unspoken. You’re giving voice to your experience. You’re telling your truth—and that’s one of the most healing things you can do.

So keep creating, however that looks for you.

Because even in grief, there is room for hope.
And even in illness, there is still so much life left to write.

Write it out 👇🏽

If you’ve never tried writing as a way to process what you’re going through, consider this your gentle nudge. Start small. Write a sentence about how you feel today. Or a memory that makes you smile. Or a moment that broke your heart. Whatever comes out—let it be enough.

Your words matter.
You matter.
And your story deserves to be told.

Please check out more info about Megan’s book Brave The Page and her coaching for writers here.