When the unexpected happens, I always – without fail – turn to journalling. I say it time and again: journaling, writing, and words have the power to change lives.

In January 2018, I don’t recall the day of the week or the weather, but I’d just emerged from the shower; the dogs were dancing around me, I was singing and playing with them on the way to get some clothes. I reached over the bed and heard three loud cracks. You know the kind – the ones that a chiropractor might make when adjusting you. They always sound worse than they really are. Air moving and allowing the synovial gel to move into place – or something like that.

Except this hurt… a lot. I swore, I cried, I screamed at the ceiling, ‘What the fuck do you want from me now?’ – and then I remembered to breathe through it. I swallowed some painkillers and called my osteopath. Driving to her clinic, my thoughts were: this is good, right? My body has made its own adjustment. How clever am I?

My mum has osteoporosis, which was discovered in her seventies. Since then, I’d become rather obsessed with my spine health. The question I constantly asked was following her discovery: ‘Is my spine straight?’ What I mean by this is, is it how a spine should be – spines wouldn’t work if they were dead straight.

Back home, I carried on as normal and dealt with the pain and it was painful. But I was glad I had another appointment the following week.

My journaling started to change direction. I can tell you, as a long-term journaller, that I am never surprised when my pen goes off on tangents. This journaling malarky is very enlightening.

What came up initially were three words: unloved, unappreciated and unsupported. They looked negative and ugly. I separated the un from the rest and thought about where I was loved, appreciated and supported. Then I went back to the ugly words. I wrote letters to others, a love letter to myself, I reflected, and I discovered patterns and moments of clarity.

Then I reframed. I was loved, appreciated and supported. I started to write – and this was incredible. My heart swelled with the love that surrounds me.

We forget the good stuff when the shit is going on.

Look at other words – disease and disorder. When you are told you have a disease or a disorder, what happens? Your mind goes into some kind of freefall. Take the dis off.

Dis-ease – ahhhhh, ease. How do we bring back ease? Think about it.

Dis-order – how do you bring balance and order back into your life?

The way I see it, osteoporosis – no matter how freaking painful – is not a disease or a disorder. It was an imbalance in my biochemistry.

We know that there is a mind-body connection, so it is no surprise to me that these three words (love, appreciation and support) directly correspond to the thoracic spine and probably other areas. And when I consider my life’s experiences and my response to those, it makes sense. When you look at events, you can see triggers. But of course, we forget these – and that’s why journaling will surface them for you to work through.

It’s not like someone has you naked on a cold floor and chained to the radiator, screaming at you until you open your eyes to your pain. Yet it can feel like that.

Why do we resist going to the roots of what is causing us pain?

Personally, I didn’t know that I was. I was looking elsewhere, at other things. I was focusing on learning how to love myself, and I found myself in a place of inner peace and contentment – which, bizarrely, made what I was going through so much easier.

We have to learn our stuff in incremental steps.

After the second treatment, the pain escalated, and I went to the doctor, who looked and said: ‘Your spine is curved to one side, and there is a bulge – off you go for X-rays.’

A few days later, I found out why.

Then I sat at home dealing with: a) the news that I had spinal compression fractures and osteoporosis in my thoracic spine, b) pain, and c) emotions going absolutely wild.

Each day was different.

Many of you reading this are on your own tough journeys. Some of these may stretch back in time, like mine, but still echo into the present. Some of your experiences are extraordinary. I cannot imagine what it must be like to live through certain things – to be in a country ravaged by famine or war. We find ourselves where we find ourselves, and the human spirit is usually strong and wise.

Writing is so immensely powerful at a time like this. Back then, I researched and journaled my socks off. There is always so much more to learn about ourselves when we open our souls to the pen and the page.

Writing Through the Kübler-Ross Change Curve

As I lay in pain – agony, actually – I was reminded of the Kübler-Ross change curve, which is used in change management and grief. It maps the emotional journey we travel when something shifts irrevocably, and I found it to be an extraordinarily useful companion for my journaling.

The stages, as I worked with them, are:

• Shock
• Resistance / Denial / Disbelief / Anger
• Frustration / Self-Doubt / Awareness
• Depression / Blame / Victim
• Acceptance
• Experiment / Exploration / Letting Go
• Action / Decision / Choice
• Integration / Commitment / Focus

Take each stage in turn and express yourself through it. Don’t rush. Don’t edit. Just write. What follows are journal prompts to support you through each one.

1. Shock

Shock is the body’s first buffer. It can feel like numbness, unreality, or a strange, floating calm. We go through the motions whilst some part of us is still standing in the moment when everything changed. Writing here is less about analysis and more about simply witnessing yourself.

Journal prompts

• Describe the moment you received the news, heard the words, or felt the shift. Write it as though you are narrating it from outside yourself. What did you see? What did you hear? What did your body do?
• What words are you still struggling to believe right now? Write them down. Then write: “And yet, here I am.”
• Shock often freezes time. What feels suspended – unreal, paused, unprocessed? Write freely, without needing it to make sense.
• If shock had a colour, a texture, a temperature – what would it be? Describe it fully.
• What, in this moment, do you most need? Write a letter to yourself from a version of you who has come through this and knows that you will be all right.

2. Resistance / Denial / Disbelief / Anger

This is where the fight begins. We argue with reality. We bargain, rage, and refuse. Anger is particularly important to honour here – it is energy, and energy, when written out, moves. Do not tidy your language in this section. Let it be rough and raw.

Journal prompts

• Write the sentence you keep saying (or thinking) that begins with “But this can’t be…” or “It’s not fair that…”. Follow it wherever it leads. Don’t stop until the page feels lighter.
• Who or what are you angry with? Write them a letter you will never send. Hold nothing back.
• What are you refusing to accept right now? Write it honestly. Then ask: what would accepting it even a fraction more feel like?
• Denial is often protection. What is the part of you that isn’t ready to face this trying to keep safe? Write to that part with compassion.
• Write about the last time you felt this kind of resistance. What eventually shifted? What does that tell you about now?
• If your anger could speak, what would it say? Give it a voice on the page. Then ask it: what do you actually need?

3. Frustration / Self-Doubt / Awareness

This is a tender stage. The sharp edges of denial begin to soften, and something more vulnerable appears beneath – a creeping awareness that this is real, combined with the nagging question of whether we are enough to meet it. Frustration often turns inward here.

Journal prompts

• What are you frustrated with most – the situation, others, or yourself? Write honestly about each in turn.
• What stories are you telling yourself about what this means about you? Write them out. Then ask: are these stories true, or are they familiar?
• Where are you beginning to see this situation more clearly, even if it’s uncomfortable? What is awareness showing you that you’d rather not see?
• Finish this sentence twenty times without stopping: “I’m finding this hard because…”
• What does your inner critic say about how you’re handling this? Now write a response from your wisest, most compassionate self.
• What tiny thing today showed you a crack of light – a moment of clarity, kindness, or unexpected grace? Write about it.

4. Depression / Blame / Victim

Here, the weight really lands. This is perhaps the most important stage to write through, because the temptation is to stop writing altogether – to close the journal, pull the duvet up, and go quiet. Resist that. Even a single sentence counts. Depression speaks in absolutes; your pen can gently question them.

Journal prompts

• Write the darkest thought you’ve had today. Just one. Then sit beside it without fixing it. Write: “I see you, and I am still here.”
• Who or what are you blaming? Write it all out – the full blame list. Then, when you’re ready, look at each one and ask: what can I actually influence here?
• What does “victim” mean to you? Is there a part of you that is in a victim story right now? Write about it without judgement.
• Write about a time you moved through something dark before. What did you call on? What does that tell you is available to you now?
• What would you say to a dear friend who was feeling exactly as you feel today? Write them a letter. Then read it back to yourself.
• What small act of self-care, however humble, could you offer yourself today? Write about why you deserve it.

5. Acceptance

Acceptance is not defeat. It is not giving up or pretending everything is fine. It is the quiet, radical act of saying: this is what is, and I am willing to be here with it. Acceptance opens a door. It doesn’t have to arrive all at once.

Journal prompts

• Write the words: “This is real, and I am still here.” What rises in you as you write them? Follow it.
• What have you begun – even tentatively – to accept? What still feels impossible to accept? Write about both.
• Acceptance often comes in waves. Describe the last time you felt a moment of genuine okayness. What was happening? What had shifted?
• What are you learning about yourself through this experience that you couldn’t have learned any other way?
• Write about the difference between accepting something and approving of it. Where are you on that spectrum today?
• If acceptance had a physical sensation in your body, where would it live? Describe it. Write towards it.

6. Experiment / Exploration / Letting Go

Something begins to loosen. There is a little more space, a little more curiosity. You start to wonder what might be possible. This is a stage for tentative trying – for gentle exploration without pressure. Let your writing be playful here, if it can.

Journal prompts

• What is one thing you’ve been curious about trying or thinking differently – something you’ve held back from because of where you’ve been? Write about it.
• What are you ready to let go of? A belief, a habit, a hope, an identity? Write it a goodbye letter.
• If this experience were a teacher, what lesson is it pointing you towards? What are you beginning to understand?
• Write about a small experiment you could run this week. Nothing dramatic – just a tiny shift. What might it open up?
• What has surprised you about how you have moved through this so far? What have you discovered about your own resilience?
• Write freely about what “letting go” means to you. Not the Instagram version – the real, messy, honest version.

7. Action / Decision / Choice

This is where agency returns. You begin to choose – not from a place of desperation or reaction, but from something steadier. Even small choices matter enormously here. Each one is a vote for the life you are rebuilding.

Journal prompts

• What decision have you been avoiding? Write about what’s underneath the avoidance. What would it mean to make the choice?
• Write about three things you are choosing today. They can be as small as choosing to drink a glass of water with intention, or as large as choosing to begin again.
• What action, however small, would move you forward by even the tiniest degree? What has stopped you from taking it?
• Write about what you want your life to look and feel like from here. Not perfect – real. What are you working towards?
• Who do you need to become in order to take the next step? What do you need to leave behind?
• Write a declaration. Begin it: “I choose…” Let it surprise you.

8. Integration / Commitment / Focus

This is not the end of the story – it is the stage where the story becomes yours to tell. Integration means weaving what you have been through into the fabric of who you are. Not as a wound, but as wisdom that has shaped you.

Journal prompts

• Write about who you were before this happened and who you are now. What remains the same? What has changed? What has deepened?
• What commitments are you making to yourself as you move forward? Write them down. Make them real.
• How has this experience changed the way you see yourself, others, or life? Write freely and honestly.
• What do you now know to be true that you didn’t know before? Write a list of your hard-won knowings.
• Write the title of the chapter of your life that begins today. Then write the opening paragraph.
• If you could send one message back to the version of yourself who was sitting in shock at the beginning of all this, what would it be?

Still Journalling: A Few Thoughts From the Other Side

A top tip to begin with: back then, I started a separate journal specifically for this journey. I like different places to write, and something told me that journaling about this in its own dedicated space had a purpose. There is something about giving a difficult passage its own home on the page – it contains it, and it honours it.

Fast forward to today, and I am still journaling. Last night, I was reflecting on how hurt I was feeling because I am quick to support others, but it seems that, when I need something, not everyone responds in the way I might expect, despite my making it easy for them. I was writing about my disappointment and my hurt, and looking at how I could navigate and reframe things.

Which brings me to something I have been sitting with:

How fast do any of us move through this?

I wonder about that a great deal. Some people seem to move through the Kübler-Ross stages at a pace, barely pausing. Others circle back around, returning to resistance or depression long after they thought they’d left it behind. There is no right speed. There is only your speed – and honouring that is its own kind of wisdom.

What kind of person stays stuck – and why?

I think we stay stuck when the stage we’re in is offering us something we’re not yet ready to give up. Anger keeps us from feeling grief. Denial protects us from a reality that feels unsurvivable. Blame gives us somewhere to put the pain. The victim story, as uncomfortable as it is to say, can sometimes feel like the only identity available.

We don’t stay stuck because we are weak – this is really important to remember. We stay stuck because some part of us is still trying to survive. The invitation of journalling is to get curious about what that part needs – and to write towards meeting it.

What do you call on to move forward?

Here are some ideas – and I would love to know yours.

• Your journal, always. Even a single sentence counts.
• A trusted friend who can hold space without trying to fix you.
• Your body. Movement, breath, the feeling of your feet on the earth – my fave especially with my dogs.
• Nature. There is something about being outside – even briefly – that reminds us we are part of something larger and longer than our current moment. Again with my dogs or just sat on the terrace staring at the hills.
• A ritual. A cup of tea made with intention. A candle lit. Something that says: I am here, I am tending to myself.
• A community of people who understand. Shared experience is extraordinarily healing.
• Permission. To feel what you feel, to go at your own pace, to not have it all figured out.
• Your own words, on the page, coming back to you. Because sometimes we write something and realise that we already knew the way through.

I’d love to hear how you use journaling through difficult times. What has carried you? What has surprised you? The conversation matters – because we are all in this together, writing our way home.

With love and words,

Dale | The Word Alchemist