Why Writing Became My Most Reliable Mental Health Routine
- Israel Temmie
- Jul 21
- 5 min read
Updated: Jul 23
How freelancing, storytelling, and unexpected human connection changed the way I saw myself.
Hiding Behind Humour
People are often surprised when I tell them that writing became one of the healthiest things in my life. From the outside, I have always seemed like someone doing okay. I joke a lot, laugh easily, and rarely let uncomfortable emotions sit visibly on my face for too long. Humour became my survival tool long before writing did.
Whenever friends tried checking in on me emotionally, I usually brushed it off with jokes. Someone would ask if I was okay, and I would immediately turn the conversation into something funny before it became serious. I had become so good at doing this that eventually people stopped asking. Not because they did not care, but because I made it seem like there was never anything wrong in the first place.
The truth was more complicated.
For most of my life, I struggled deeply with inferiority and emotional isolation. I constantly felt like I was existing outside everyone else’s world, watching people connect naturally while I stayed emotionally distant from almost everything around me. I got bored in conversations easily, struggled with commitment, and rarely spoke up for myself, even when I knew I should. If I was treated unfairly, I usually stayed quiet. I convinced myself that my voice simply did not matter enough.
Over time, that mindset became exhausting.
The humour still worked temporarily, but eventually even that stopped helping. There is only so long you can laugh your way around your own emotions before the cracks begin to show underneath. Looking back now, I think that was one of the main reasons I started freelancing in the first place. At the time, I told myself I was only looking for a way to make money online, build a career, and create opportunities for myself. But I think another part of me was also searching for somewhere to exist honestly.
Writing gave me that space.
Looking for Somewhere to Exist Honestly
At first, it was entirely practical. I started pitching articles, learning how to structure stories, and figuring out how the freelance world worked. I treated writing like work because that was exactly what it was supposed to be. But even after I started publishing pieces, the insecurity did not magically disappear. I still doubted myself constantly. I still struggled with confidence in real life. I still felt small in conversations and hesitant in situations where I should have defended myself.
Then something unexpected happened.
Finding My Voice Through Responses and Engagements
People started reading my work.
At first, it was only a few messages. Someone emailed me after reading an article. Someone replied to a post saying they connected with the way I described something. Then more messages came. Some people told me my writing made them feel understood. Others said they related to my experiences or simply liked the way I told stories. A few people even recognised me because of articles I had published online.
It sounds small, but for me, it changed everything.
For years, I had quietly believed that I was forgettable. Suddenly, strangers were remembering my words.
That realisation slowly began changing the way I saw myself. Writing stopped being just a side hustle or career path and became something far more personal. It became proof that my thoughts had value. That my voice could reach people. That maybe I was never as invisible as I believed I was.
More importantly, writing became the one place where I felt fully understood without needing to force myself through exhausting conversations. Through articles and essays, I could communicate emotions that I struggled to explain out loud. People connected with the version of me that existed on the page, and strangely, that helped me become more comfortable with myself in real life too.
For the first time, I stopped feeling inferior.
Not overnight, of course. Confidence is rarely that dramatic. But little by little, writing gave me evidence against the negative beliefs I had carried for years. Every positive message, every thoughtful response, every reader who said “I understand exactly what you mean” chipped away at the version of myself that believed I had nothing important to say.
Writing as Emotional Release
That emotional shift also changed my relationship with mental health.
Before writing, I spent a lot of time emotionally disconnected from myself. I avoided difficult feelings by distracting myself constantly, whether through humour, social media, or simply refusing to think too deeply about what I was carrying internally. Writing interrupted that pattern. It forced me to sit with my thoughts long enough to understand them.
Sometimes that meant writing about loneliness. Sometimes it meant writing about ambition, fear, identity, or uncertainty about the future. Other times, it was simply opening my notes app late at night and typing whatever came to mind without worrying whether it sounded impressive.
What mattered was the release.
There is something strangely healing about seeing your thoughts outside your body. Emotions that feel overwhelming internally can become easier to process once they exist as words on a screen or page. Writing slowed my thoughts down. It helped me separate temporary emotions from permanent truths.
When Writing Became a Routine
I also began noticing patterns in myself.
Whenever I stopped writing for long periods, I often felt emotionally heavier. More disconnected. More restless. Writing became a form of maintenance for my mental wellbeing, the same way exercise, music, or long walks help other people feel grounded. It gave me consistency during periods where my emotions felt unpredictable.
What makes writing especially powerful for me is that it does not demand perfection. Some days I write confidently. Other days, I struggle through incomplete thoughts and messy paragraphs. But even then, the act itself still helps. Writing reminds me to pay attention to myself instead of avoiding myself.
And honestly, I think many people already use writing emotionally without realising it. Unsaved drafts. Journal entries. Notes app confessions typed at 2 a.m. Long captions that reveal more than intended. Human beings naturally search for language when trying to understand themselves.
Feeling Visible for the First Time
Of course, writing is not a replacement for therapy, support systems, or professional mental health care. It did not solve every insecurity I had, and it certainly did not transform me into a fearless person overnight. But it gave me something I desperately needed at the time: connection.
Connection to myself.
Connection to other people.
Connection to the idea that my voice deserved space in the world too.
Today, writing feels much bigger than productivity or freelancing. It has become part of how I process life itself. Some people clear their minds through conversation. Others do it through movement, prayer, or music. I return to words.
Not because writing made my life perfect, but because it helped me finally feel visible inside it.
This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust, who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating.
