Writing for Wellness: Finding Steadiness on the Page

In January, the world gets quieter.

The calendar turns, the lights come down, and, for many people, the momentum of December gives way to something slower and heavier. There is pressure to start fresh, to set intentions, to become a better version of yourself just as energy often dips. In Canada, winter compounds that feeling, with short days and long nights amplifying whatever is already close to the surface.

For Miranda Krogstad, BA’16, writing has long been a way to meet those moments without forcing them into something brighter. Not as a performance or productivity tool, or even simply as a creative outlet, but as a grounding practice we can return to when life and emotions arrive faster than language. 

A poet, artist, performer and author, Krogstad has spent years exploring how writing can support mental well-being and personal growth, both in her own life and through the workshops she facilitates for others. 

This month, she brings that approach back to the University of Calgary alumni community through a 90-minute virtual Writing for Wellness session that invites participants to slow down, reflect, and explore writing as a tool for self care and connection.

Krogstad has been writing for as long as she can remember. As a child, that meant stories written for the joy of it, including an 11-page Christmas novel at age seven. As an adult, writing became something steadier and more intentional.

“Often, I use writing as a way to get myself to a better place,” Krogstad says.

Over time, writing became a way to work through difficulty, especially during periods when her mental health needed care that did not come in neat or linear steps. Rather than trying to solve what was happening around her, she learned to focus on how she related to it.

“We can’t really control what happens to us in life,” Krogstad says. “But we control the way we think about it.”

That distinction matters. For Krogstad, writing for wellness is less about fixing what is broken and more about shifting perspective, creating something livable even when circumstances do not change. What begins as self-support often becomes something shared.

“I write for myself,” she says. “But, if it benefits anybody else, that’s a bonus.”

That bonus often appears quietly. When someone writes openly about grief, burnout or uncertainty, it creates recognition. It reminds others that they are not alone in what they are feeling.

Finding Community at UCalgary

“The university was hugely instrumental to my writing practice,” Krogstad says. “Probably not in the way that people would imagine.”

While technique and structure mattered, the deeper impact to her work came from the people she encountered along the way. What stayed with her most was the sense of community she found on campus, particularly among people who shared her curiosity and creative drive.

“People think they’re going to come and just get classes, and then they show up and they’re like, ‘Oh my god — guess what? There’s this whole network of nerds who are interested in the same things as you and are curious and engaged and want to learn and grow,’” Krogstad says.

Creative writing classes and workshops exposed her to peer feedback and multiple interpretations of the same piece of work. Beyond the classroom, campus events offered a different kind of learning. Writing moved off the page and into shared space.

“I got to stand in front of a mic and in front of a crowd for the first time,” says Krogstad. “I got to expose myself to audiences and to connection with people beyond just what was on the page.”

Those experiences shifted how she understood her work. Writing no longer felt confined to personal reflection or private processing.

“That was the moment where I realized this could mean more than just me,” Krogstad says. “This could be bigger than me.”

That understanding continues to shape how she approaches writing today. Even when it begins alone, it is rooted in the possibility of connection with readers, listeners and communities who recognize themselves in the words.

Writing and Mental Health

The connection between writing and mental well-being has become more visible in recent years, particularly as isolation and burnout have intensified. During periods of disconnection, including throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, Krogstad found herself returning to the page not in search of answers, but for grounding.

“During times when there’s no one to connect with, where it’s just the four walls of our room, writing can be such a beautiful practice to not feel alone in a certain way,” she says. “That is the beauty of writing. If other people hear it, it’s this ripple effect where we get this really social element of discussing and furthering our knowledge of these issues and of ourselves.”

For Krogstad, writing slows things down enough to be workable. It creates space to listen without interruption.

“Writing is a really good reflective tool,” she says, describing the page not as a solution, but as a witness.

“You get this tangible witness to your existence. You get the page to hear what you are saying and what you’re figuring out.”

Once thoughts are visible, writing allows for choice. It becomes possible to take control of your own story and decide how to carry it forward.

“You get to shape it and decide what comes next,” Krogstad says.

Krogstad is careful not to position writing as a replacement for counselling or other supports. Instead, she sees it as a companion practice, one that helps people process what they are carrying and form a more intentional relationship with their inner narrative.

Letting Go of Perfection

In her workshops, Krogstad often meets people who arrive already convinced that writing is not for them. Many carry years of messages about correctness, polish and talent that make the blank page feel intimidating before they ever begin. Writing, for them, has been framed as something to get right, rather than something to use.

“One of the most common things I hear is, ‘I wasn’t a writer, and this helps so much,’” she says.

That hesitation, Krogstad explains, has little to do with ability and everything to do with permission. Early experiences in classrooms or creative spaces often teach people that writing belongs to a select few, or that it only has value if it meets a certain standard. 

“People are so worried about it being perfect that they make it the enemy of good,” she says.

When perfection becomes the goal, writing stops being supportive and starts to feel evaluative. People self-censor before they have even figured out what they are trying to say and the act of writing becomes another source of pressure, rather than relief.

Krogstad’s approach begins by dismantling that pressure. Writing, she emphasizes, does not need to be tidy, clever or complete to be useful. It only needs to be honest enough to exist on the page.

“We have to give ourselves permission to be imperfect and sloppy,” she says.

Only after that initial mess is allowed does shaping become meaningful. Expression comes first. Reflection follows.

A Quiet New Year

January often arrives with loud expectations. Resolutions, reinvention, and public declarations of change dominate the conversation, asking people to become something new at the exact moment they are often most depleted. Krogstad has never been particularly interested in that version of growth.

For her, writing is not about transformation overnight, but about return. It is a practice she comes back to in fragments and pauses.

“Writing has been the quiet voice in my life that’s always there,” Krogstad says.

That return does not require perfect conditions. It might be a few minutes in a car, a note tapped into a phone or a voice memo recorded between tasks. The value is not in duration, but in attention.

“You get to ask, ‘What do I want now?’” Krogstad says.

In a season defined by pressure, that question offers an alternative.

Mentorship That Opened Doors

When the conversation turns to mentors, Krogstad is quick to shift the focus away from herself. Her growth, she says, was shaped by people who noticed her curiosity early and were willing to make space for it.

"They were all people who really believed in me, gave me a space to share my voice, and empowered me to believe that my story and my voice mattered," says Krogstad. 

One of those people was Deborah Willis, then writer in residence with the Calgary Distinguished Writers Program. When a mentorship arrangement fell through, Krogstad asked for her help

“I basically showed up in her office,” she recalls. “And she said yes.”

That yes mattered. Willis did not simply offer feedback, but accountability, encouragement and a sense that Krogstad’s work was worth sustained attention. For a young writer still questioning where she fit, it was an early lesson in what mentorship could look like.

An influential meeting with writer in residence Dr. Ian Williams, PhD, challenged how she thought about form and possibility, with Dr. Williams encouraging her to look beyond the boundaries she had set for herself as a poet. At the time, the challenge felt uncomfortable.

“They were totally right,” Krogstad says, reflecting on being urged to explore what her work could become rather than what it already was.

She also credits educators at UCalgary who encouraged her to apply for opportunities she assumed were meant for someone else, including roles and programs that felt out of reach at the time.

“Imposter syndrome is so real,” Krogstad says. “I can't say enough things about the university community and the confidence and ability that it's given me to go into the world and share my craft. That kind of teacher can’t be underrated.”

In this sneak peak, Miranda Krogstad takes us through a simple new writing for wellness practice to kick off the New Year.

Step 1: Get it out.
Set a short amount of time and write or speak without stopping. Do not edit, correct or worry about how it sounds. Let the words come as they are, even if they feel messy or incomplete. “Nothing is stupid, nothing is too much, nothing is too little,” Krogstad says.

Step 2: Pause and reflect.
When you are finished, read or listen back. Ask yourself a single question: How do I want to feel about this? This is not about forcing a positive spin, but about choosing how you want to relate to what you are carrying.

Step 3: Return when you need to.
This practice does not require daily commitment or perfect consistency. Five minutes is enough. Writing for wellness, Krogstad reminds us, is less about doing it right and more about having a place to come back to when things feel heavy.

For more on Miranda, be sure to visit her Website and check out her socials on Instagram, YouTube and Facebook.