Life-writing workshop

This morning, I ran a life-writing workshop in the office of our co-living hostel. The experience was both invigorating and deeply fulfilling. I began with an introduction—speaking about myself with ease, as I often do. To my delight, everyone else seemed equally comfortable, and what started as a simple preamble soon evolved into an open exchange of personal stories. People spoke candidly, revealing the challenges and complexities that had shaped their lives. The session stretched longer than anticipated, as the room filled with voices sharing vulnerability and resilience. One participant quipped that it felt more like group therapy than a writing workshop.
Midway through, I introduced a writing exercise: to recount a memorable Christmas. The responses were remarkable. A Welsh man, with a storyteller’s flair, painted a vivid picture of himself as a wide-eyed three-year-old, receiving unusually generous gifts from his working-class parents, who had stretched their meager means to make the day magical. As he read aloud, his voice faltered, overcome with emotion, and he paused to brush away tears. His story, like so many others shared that morning, was a poignant reminder of the power of memory and the written word.
The workshop ran over two hours—longer than planned—but I left with the hope that, in some small way, it had been meaningful for those who participated.