”It is as if I can see and hear the “new” ficus crying. The ficus that only knows this house and has always been given the nourishment it deserved and still deserves.

Half an hour earlier, I had taken out the old ficus. It had dried up, the branches just snapped, just liked the roots and I was aching deep inside. I didn’t realize that I wasn’t the only one hurting, now it was finalized. There was no denying anymore that the ficus had died, not just from a broken heart, but especially from the lack of love from those who had stayed behind. They didn’t care. It was simply a nuisance.

Taking the ficus out of his pot, one of many it had seen, I felt especially sadness. This was my plant. I had bought it to decorate my first own place, a studio. I’d found it across the street and I had been so proud of it at the time. 21 and finally on my own. That age of 21 everything changed. From a student living at home, I started working living on my own shortly after.

The ficus moved a year later with me to a different city in the middle of the country. It saw all my frustration and sadness, not being understood and not being able to go anywhere. A year later it moved back to where i’d grown up, where it stayed with me at my parent’s house. Freedom. Finally. About a little over a half year later it moved to my first own apartment. All this time it kept growing and growing. Then I moved to another apartment, this one was sold and we were waiting for the new soon to be build huge house. I took it to the office building where it kept thriving.

The ficus got bigger and bigger. It got relocated to bigger pots. Then one day, years later, nearly a decade ago, I had trouble walking. I was in pain, yet again. The ficus  wanted a lot of water and I it hurt to walk all the way through the living room to give it what it needed. I kept doing it, but something had changed when I couldn’t walk normally anymore. Actually everything had changed. I felt misunderstood once again. A few years later I left the house, to only come back on rare occasions. 

The ficus was so big by then, that it was impossible to move back to the office building next door, from where it had stayed previously. It got neglected. In the beginning I would give it water when I was there. I would ask why the new one was thriving and this one wasn’t. The new one was next to the tv and got all the water from the coffee pot. This one didn’t. 

And so, one day, not too long ago, I realized it had died. I’d had that ficus for over 30 years. I won’t ever have another one which will get that old, ever. It broke my heart when I realized it had died. 

The moment that I actually take it out of its final pot, all the grief and disappointment, build up in the last few years, come out with it. I break it in pieces and put it in the “green” container, bit by bit. It feels good, since it feels like I am feeling inside for a while now. I don’t have a place in this house anymore and I need to start removing myself from it, just like I am removing this plant. The plant which has been my companion through all these decades, until I couldn’t take care of it anymore.

All of sudden, standing in the kitchen, I look to my left. I see his friend, the “new” ficus, who is thriving, well at least the top part does. I realize it is crying inside, just as much as I am. It has lost its friend for over 20 years. It’s surprising how one old friend can leave such a gaping hole in both our hearts.”

3 Reasons why writing helps processing your feelings:

The story above is both a true story and a metaphor about how things can change in life.

Writing it down is a way to express emotions and reach feelings, which would otherwise have remained lingering, perhaps undiscovered for a long time to come. 

The connection with the other plant, sharing how it feels, creates a connection with both the reader and the writer. It expresses how all involved feel: Brokenhearted.

If you ever feel stuck in your emotions and you want to vent them, this is an excellent way to do it.

1. By sharing it from the heart, there’s no bullying involved, no blaming anyone else involved. It’s purely your story.
2. By writing it down, you can choose to share it, so others can (finally) get a better understanding about how you feel. Sometimes it is easier to have someone read something instead of you having to tell it to them on the spot.
3. Having written it, you can reread it and realize how far you have come. Be proud of yourself and realize you are good enough. You are worth sharing your story. Especially one that comes from the heart.