You are a writer, a phenomenal, mind blowing writer born to write up a universe.

Born to put words together like a big ocean.

Like a mountain.

Like a human being.

You are here to construct a story of passion, nature and love as if you lived it, walked in it.

You have books inside of you, books that only you can write.

There are poems there too.

Stories of love.

And songs. There are so many songs within you sounding like a melody already.

If I could show you the beauty of your quirks you would see the similarities you have with the greatest writers of our time.

I wish you could see that your most vulnerable moments are meant to be written out of you.

Writing a book, a blog, a journal, a novel, a song, a poem or whatever you heart is asking you to write is as important for your mind as water is to our bodies.

Language was created so we do not live inside our minds. (Click toTweet!)

Words were invented so we could take the world we live in and share it with everyone else.

I am writing to you right now. I am lifting the crazy ideas from inside my head and bringing them out to you.

The only thing that could stop me from doing this is my my ego.

My worry that you would think I am not good enough.

And because I threw my ego on the floor and crushed it I am able to get my words to you.

Today, I am going to ask you to crush your ego and give birth to your written words.

It could be two words strung together.

It could be one sentence, one paragraph, a hidden chapter you wrote and never shared.

It could be a melody on a forgotten piano.

A song nobody else wants to sing, but you.

You have a pen in your hand, start using it publicly.

Write about flowers, waves, feelings, trees, dreams, dust, love or anything you want.

Your words are begging you to write them.

I am begging you to write this weekend.

Write and share it with someone. Anyone.

 Share your words HERE:

You can share them on Twitter with the hashtag #writingmywords and I will retweet you.

You can share them in the blog comments and of course you can share them on our Facebook page here.

Remember even if it’s two words, it’s good enough.

With words,



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Christina Rasmussen is an author, speaker and social entrepreneur who believes that grief is an evolutionary experience required for launching a life of adventure and creative accomplishment.

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  • Joyce says:

    Your beautiful words today encouraged me to write….my loss has torn me apart and the coming together Is my new path in the world. I feel as if I am now writing a spiritual primer for my inner child who has been born from the ashes of grief.
    Thank you, bless you.
    My poem…

    If you do not know that all will be well,
    Then look up and over your head.
    Look up past the wires, up past every tower,
    Past the fog, past the sad, past the dread.

    Let the eye of your heart be the first one to see,
    Something once you thought you knew.
    A cloud, a haze, no longer can be,
    When the Unknown’s now made true.

    You call it a cloud as if you did know
    The grace it does bring to our lives.
    Here but a blink, shift-shaping or two,
    A blessing, a feast, for our eyes.

    Yet within that sweet feast is a bitter unknown,
    Only the Unreal can live.
    When nothing can last and nothing can stay
    When nothing is all you can give…

    Then you will know the secret above,
    Celebrated in firework skies.
    Clouds can be born, transformed, then dissolved
    Brought home, but never to die.

    You too little one, with the cloudy eyes,
    Too veiled by the sorrow of self.
    Don’t you know you’re a cloud, most beautiful and bright,
    Don’t you know of your greatest wealth?

    You were breathed to this space
    To glorify His name.
    Your place in creation,
    Your place to proclaim,

    That you too are a miracle,
    A cloud passing though,
    A wonder of nature,
    God’s chosen hue.

    Here but a blink,
    Such a lovely unfolding.
    Floating, transforming,
    Love beyond holding.

    Where you too are a miracle,
    God’s greatest face,
    His palate of colors,
    Painted portrait of Grace.
    And so little one, keep your heart in the clouds,
    Where your faith and your hope can be real.
    Look for what is, what’s always, what was
    A peace that will always heal.

    And then you will know why the birds are the first,
    To look to the sky in the morn.
    They are calling for You, for God, for His Grace
    To come to this day and be born.

  • Meg says:

    Hi Christina,

    Thank you for another inspirational post. They seem to turn up
    when I need a gentle push in the right direction or confirmation
    I’m heading the right way!

    I’ve been a cupboard writer/poet since I was quite young and in
    the last few years have been sharing my writing more.
    I’m currently working on my first novel. When I finally return from
    Narnia I hope to share it for those it resonates with.

    Keep the posts coming 🙂

    Much Love

  • Roz Randorf says:

    Today I am giving myself another chance to say goodbye.
    Kevin, with the precious few words that I have for you, I won’t bother you with talk of pain. Or, how over the past 2 1/2 years- I’ve never gone to bed without thinking of you.

    You remain my last thought at night and my first in the morning.

    I won’t fill this precious little time by trying to share how many tears I’ve cried or how painful your death and your funeral was – and is. I won’t tell you how hard it was to see your death through your son’s eyes.

    Instead, I want to tell you what a gift you have been to me. I want to thank you for being a great father to Simon and a real father to Spencer, when his was absentee emotionally and physically. .

    I want to tell you that I’m so glad I knew you – the 13 year old boy. I’m so glad we grew up together. I cherish the years we spent together in junior high and high school.

    I feel so blessed that we met again after we each experienced painful divorces. We effortlessly connected and glued the pieces of our lives together to create a beautiful family. Better than most.

    I want to thank you for being my rock. For helping me to stop and have fun. For challenging us to take risks and for making me feel beautiful.

    If I could only see myself through your eyes……

    It’s 7am on March 28, 2013. This time, when I kiss you goodbye, instead of saying – see you Sunday. I want to tell you I know for sure, I’ll see you again someday.

    For that promise, I am grateful.

  • Denise says:

    I’m feeling stronger today than I have in a long time. Strong enough to face the fact that I’ll be alone in this big house soon -as our daughter has bought her first house, strong enough to actually ponder the excitement of a new house for me without you by my side, strong enough to consider that there may be a new life for me out there and that maybe I’ll be okay . I still miss you honey and will forever . I can’t believe you’ve been gone over 6 months now and I’m still grieving the life that we were supposed to have. It doesn’t seem fair that I’ll never be able to tease you about your first gray hair , see your face at our son or daughters wedding, or pack up the mini van that I just know we would have, when we became grandparents one day, but I am seeing a light at the end of this dismal tunnel for the first time . Although it’s a bit intimidating, I’m feeling strong enough to think about it and be confident that maybe, just maybe things will be okay.

  • Janna says:

    Behind my heart.
    Counting… the
    Days…the months
    Helpless, hopeless…
    Is how I feel
    Joyless fog
    Loneliness in…
    My heart… in my body
    Oh how it hurts.
    Pain and
    Soul mates
    Till the end.
    Union of hearts.
    Vulnerable now.
    Wanting now.
    Xylophone of lost harmony.
    You…will always be remembered…never to be

  • Suz says:

    Your words have inspired me through this wild adventure and I am now using words to help me as my journey to the future evolves with time. Writing has certainly been a constant that has dragged me through the bad days, made me reflect on the past and look to the future with excitement.

  • Suzanne Vignaud says:

    I started writing some pretty spontaneous Haiku this year to help ease my busy mind. Sometimes too many words get in the way of the message. Grief is so complicated and the layers of life get heavy. It is okay to be authentic, to feel, to do whatever it takes to get through the pain of loss. I might publish some of my poems and when or if I do I will name the book: Spontaneous Haiku. Here are a few of them.

    I am a new day
    Bold, brave and awakening
    Ready to march on.


    Cover me with clouds
    Orange, red, gray muted spark
    Sunset into me.


    Can you feel my touch?
    Feather light butterfly kiss
    Soft, gentle caress.


    Moving On

    I can’t hold me back
    Heartbreak paves the road to more
    Love and time to grow.


    The grand crescendo
    Of love lost, love gained, remains
    A beautiful song.


    Moon Glow

    If I were your moon
    I would bathe you in blue light
    And heal your sorrow.



    What would Robert do?
    Keep moving, smiling, playing
    Music to the spheres.


    These are some of my poems. My heart still aches. My body aches for my true love, my best friend, my soul mate but I know that I am still one of the lucky ones to have known such a great love. When I’m really sad and can’t sleep at night I put on his old robe, dab a little bit of his scent on me and curl up like a cocoon and try to sleep. I miss my wonderful husband but some of the last words he said to me were, ” You want to be happy and I want you to be happy”. I try and sometimes I succeed. I am blessed with two wonderful sons, many great friends and have memories to sustain me and more time to relish. Life is still good and my life is so much better from having shared it with such a wonderful partner. Who knows what lies ahead. I just keep moving, one day at a time, sometimes one minute at a time and I can manage that. Peace be with you as you journey through the valley of pain. Thank you Christina for you words of wisdom and for a place to share with others who are grieving. Your weekly news letters have helped. Suzanne Vignaud

  • Lyn says:

    To my precious husband Don. It has been over four and a half years and I still think and dream of you all the time. I feel you with me and know that you are watching me. I hope you are proud of me and my life now. I know love and happiness again and I hope you are happy for me. I love you so much, my darling and I always will. I will see you again my angel.

  • Jodi says:

    It’s been a little over 8 months since Jamie died and I’m here to tell you that although I’m still striving to live life after loss, I’m tired. This grief journey is a long one. Long and painful. I have likened it to climbing a mountain; the tallest, roughest terrain mountain anyone has ever seen or imagined. Some days the sun is out and the weather and scenery are beautiful so the climb is filled with encouraging thoughts and hope that I will be able to make it to the top. On those days, the journey is still painful but a bit lighter than normal. Hope fills my soul and I desire to keep pushing forward. I love those days. As the months have continued to roll on, these days do happen more and more frequently as I keep trudging my way up the side of the mountain. But out of no where another storm of grief rolls in and I must stop my forward progress and pitch my tent on the ledge…and rest. Today is one of those days. Tears have been abundant. I’m exhausted. And all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry. If there is one thing I have learned through this journey is that pain demands to be felt. It can bubble on the surface like a pot of hot water for a few days but eventually it will boil over and today it did. It literally stopped me in my path and dropped me to the ground in a puddle. And it hurts like hell. Everything is cloudy and dreary and bleak. My hope has been drained and the top of the mountain seems so, so far away. It is in these moments that I have a hard time praying. My heart knows that He is here and waiting for me to call on Him for help but i am just literally too tired and in so much pain, my faith wavers. Will a prayer really help take this all away? And even though my thoughts are weak and my heart is breaking, i kneel. My prayer is short but oh-so sincere and in the quiet of my home, I feel Him. He is there. And he pours hope back into my heart and I know that I will be ok. He has blessed me once again and I’m humbled and grateful. Today i have realized that this process will happen over and over again as I make my way up the side of this gigantic mountain. And I know that with His help I will make it to the top. I imagine the view will beautiful from there…that is my hope.

  • Janelle says:

    Christina, your words kept ringing in my ears last night so I stayed up and wrote this. It’s a little long and I apologize for that, but this is my story.

    I opened an email today and the first line I read was, “Your words are begging you to write them.” I’ve felt this way for a while, but haven’t done it because I’m not a writer and didn’t know if anyone would want to hear my story. I’ve now decided it didn’t matter, I needed to write it, to relive my story of love and loss again and to put it into words.
    I had a history of choosing the wrong man for as far back as I can remember. Fast forward to meeting Kevin in 2001. I was fed up with the whole male species and met him while working as a bartender at our local VFW. His shop was around the corner where he would work late hours. At first, he would come in once in a blue moon on his way home from work to have a beer. As time went on, and we became friends, he was coming in more like two or three times a week.
    One night, there was a man giving me a hard time and asking me to go home with him. Kevin was sitting beside him and saw my frustration, so he turned to the man and said, “She can’t go home with you, we’re going to IHOP to have a rooty tooty fresh and fruity.” The man left shortly after that and Kevin and I decided to really go to IHOP (I failed to mention that IHOP was in a neighboring city 55 miles away….and that it was now 1:00 am). As we approached the city limits of our small town, we decided that a truck stop and coffee were probably a better idea.
    We talked and laughed for hours. Before we knew it, it was 6:00 am, and the sun was coming up. This began the first of many, many coffee dates. As time went on, we became friends, best friends. Our coffee dates happened once a week, then twice, then three times….I don’t know how we both survived on no sleep.
    One night, we went to the truck stop and there was no coffee, so we decided to go to my house and make some. As usual, we talked and laughed…then, it happened. He kissed me!! I think he was as shocked as I was that he did it. This started a conversation that would last the rest of the night. We had grown so close that there was no one else we wanted to spend time with but, at the same time, didn’t want to lose this friendship we had nurtured for over a year. The decision was made to wait a while and see what happened. We waited a week before we decided that we couldn’t see ourselves with anyone else. And, so it began.
    From the beginning, we were inseparable and would remain that way till the end. We were married a year and a half later. We were “The couple” that everyone who came in contact with us wanted to be. Sure, we had our struggles, everyone does, but we handled them with love and devotion.
    The next eight years of marriage were great, and went by quickly. Things started to change for us and our relationship in 2011. There was a distance that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t that we didn’t love each other or that we weren’t dedicated to each other, it was just…..different.
    By the end 2012, we seemed more like roommates than a married couple. I tried to tell myself that it’s just another stage of our marriage and that it would take a turn soon.
    That turn would come after Kevin went to the doctor at the end of January 2013 because he had pain in his lower back/hip that wouldn’t go away. We found out that his PSA level was elevated. His doctor referred us to a urologist which he was to see April 1st.
    Meanwhile, we took a weekend trip to Dallas and had a great time in March. It seemed like we actually reconnected over those few days. I knew in my heart that we were facing a difficult time ahead, but had no clue how difficult.
    He saw the urologist, which led to a prostate biopsy, which led to some of the hardest news I would hear. We found that Kevin had metastatic prostate cancer. It had spread to his pelvic bone on the right side, and took away his chances of any type of surgery or curative therapy. He was dying….my husband and best friend was dying.
    Over the next six months, while Kevin was receiving radiation and hormone deprivation therapy, I tortured myself by doing constant research into this disease. I kept hoping that I would find something promising, some sort of breakthrough in the medical world that would allow me to keep him. Unfortunately, everything I read said pretty much the same thing, my husband was dying…three years maximum.
    In September, my only child, Chelsea, called on a Tuesday night to tell me I would be having my first grandchild. Kevin and I were so excited! You see, he had no biological children. He raised three kids from his previous marriage as well as my daughter, all of which adored him and thought of him as their dad.
    As if I hadn’t had enough surprises that year, or hard news to swallow, life took another huge turn. After hearing about my first grandchild, I started thinking that I hadn’t felt quite right. We had been so involved in Kevin’s disease and trying to keep his pain down (he was on crutches now), that I hadn’t paid attention to my own body signaling me that something was wrong, so I took a pregnancy test to rule out that possibility. After all, I was almost 41 and my only other child was 20 years old….surely I wasn’t pregnant now!! Besides that, Kevin and I hadn’t been intimate since the end of March.
    Long story short, it was positive!! Both of them, and, oh my God, I was pregnant! I delivered the news to my husband after crying in the bathroom. He was a bit overwhelmed by the news at first. I wish I could have heard his thoughts. Not only was I pregnant, I was six months along. Eight weeks and three days later, our beautiful baby came into this world. She was healthy and the most amazing thing I’d ever laid my eyes on. We were in love…
    One week later, Kevin went to his urologist to get a report on the progress he had made from all of the therapies meant to keep his disease from spreading. The news was shattering. It turned out that he was resistant to the hormone deprivation (prostate cancer thrives on testosterone so they deplete your body of it in hopes to starve the cancer). The cancer had grown, and traveled to his tailbone, other pelvic bone, up his spine, to his ribs, and his neck. The prognosis was even worse than we originally thought.
    The next few months are a blur. I juggled a sick husband and an infant. Sometimes, they both needed me at the same time and I had to choose who needed me worse. I was drowning, I was heartbroken, and I was exhausted.
    In April 2014, he went in for a MRI to check his progress again, the results showed that he now had spots in his liver and lungs. A biopsy was then done of his liver. The results were devastating, his cancer has morphed into small cell cancer in both of those organs. With chemo, he might have a year, without it, six months…maybe. By this time, Kevin was pretty frail and I was afraid that the chemotherapy he opted for was going to kill him before the cancer would have. He made it though three rounds before he became too sick and just couldn’t bounce back from it to take the next round.
    In July, he was experiencing excruciating pain, so I loaded him up and took him to the hospital. We learned that he had fractured both of his hips and would need to be off of his feet indefinitely. Since the cancer had made big holes in his pelvis, he would not heal from this. I brought him home July 5th from the hospital and put him to bed where he would stay the rest of his life, with the exception of one outing to take Kenzie for a ride in a utv.
    I stayed home with him his last three months. This is a time that I’m honored to have been able to have with him. We cried many tears together and said many things that needed to be said. He was able to find peace with relationships with his family that needed mending.
    In the end, he was on massive amounts of pain medication in the form of fentanyl patches that had to be changed every 72 hours, large amounts of morphine to be given every one to two hours, and Ativan to keep him calm. I had 24 alarms set in my phone because I was terrified that I would forget a dose and he would have to suffer while we got his pain level down. His pain was horrible, his cries will forever ring in my ears, and I’ll never forget the sense of helplessness I felt because I couldn’t do anything about it.
    On September 13, he stopped eating completely. He didn’t stop drinking till eight days later. He began getting delusional and testy at the end. He didn’t want Kenzie anywhere near him anymore because it unnerved him to hear her cry, and I think it really hurt him to just look at her knowing that he would be dying and wouldn’t see her grow up.
    In his last couple of weeks, he would ask his hospice nurses and me what he needed to be doing. He wanted to know if there was something he could do to speed up the process of dying…he was exhausted and I couldn’t blame him. By this time, he was child like and his voice was no longer his own, but the voice of a weak, old man. In his last few days, the only thing he could manage to say was, “help”. (As a funny side note, I’ll add that somehow, he developed a thick southern drawl so it sounded more like “haelp”.)
    Finally, on September 25, 2014, the time had come for him to go. He knew it and wasn’t afraid, his only concern was for me. He turned to his nurse and, in his own strong, youthful voice, asked her, “Is Janelle ok? Does she have everything she needs?” I was sitting on my bed behind her and said, “I’m ok, baby”. When she turned back around to see his response, his breathing had changed and his eyes were fixed. I rushed to his side and held him close, telling him that I loved him and that it was ok to go, it was ok to die. Within a minute or so, he was gone. He took his last breath and went on to meet his maker.
    A part of me died that day as he took his last breath. A part I’ll never have again. The year that followed his death was up and down. I made it through all of the holidays, our anniversary, the new year, his birthday…etc. through some of them, I was numb, some I hurt like I’ve never hurt before, and finally, by the time the anniversary of his death came around, I felt like I could handle this new life. I didn’t want to be sad or grieving, I wanted to find my new happily ever after.

  • This is such an important message. Thank you for sharing your wisdom.
    I’ve begun sharing again, digging out from a very stuck place. I had decided, despite my writing helping some, to give up because I didn’t want to share my current pain. Now I have:

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