It’s been 3 months since I last posted to this blog. This piece I just posted to Facebook gives a good explanation as to why.
I had a harm reduction and intimacy session recently during which I analyzed my wtf moment around sabotaging my writing opportunity and uncovered one of my core issues. I’ve been struggling with my voice off and on for 25 years, beginning with when I became a teen mother and couldnt sing in public anymore (I had been a soloist at school and church). Even though I came from a lot of trauma and obstacles as a child/teen, I always believed in myself as an intellectual and creative. It wasn’t until I had a baby too young and “ruined my potential” that I started doubting my gifts or that others would see me beyond my “failure.” It’s been an off and on issue since. The latest iteration is losing my voice after finding out I was pregnant with my birth son. I can claim many other reasons, but the truth is I’ve been doubting myself ever since choosing adoption, more so since things went wrong with the adoptive parents last year. I failed my son and myself.
And this – I utterly failed at nurturing community when it mattered most, so what nerve do I have writing about community and calling myself a community builder now?
I also get quiet when I’m afraid of where my writing will lead me. I’ve been hiding from the truth that came up 4 years ago – I need to birth and mother myself into being, through my writing. And I don’t know what the f*ck that means! How does one birth themselves?
When I was trying to decide what to do about the baby in my belly, I was working with the same beloved who is supporting us now, and she reminded me how we talked about my need to birth myself and that was a big part of why I didnt want to raise another child. But instead of birthing myself, I focused on the baby and my relationship with the adoptive family, up to sharing a home. That was not what my soul was calling for. Instead of claiming my freedom to find the fullness of myself as a writer and creator, I remained in the “safety” of putting family and a child first. I know how to be a sacrificing mother. Along with being a good employee, that’s most of who I know how to be. Now I can add good wife. But these are all defined by their relationship to others, and are predicated on me being “good.” Who am I without my relationships and roles? Who am I if I am not the good girl, good mother, or good employee?
Being a writer and artist comes from within, from a relationship with myself and what inspires me and me alone. My creativity is also transgressive, taking me further away from what our culture calls appropriate. The truer I am to myself, the further I travel from what is known as good and right and normal.
And yet, writing and art were my dreams from as far back as I remember. Before babies. Before lovers. And after. And in between. To write. To sculpt. To evoke emotion in others through my creativity. So why am I hiding?
Everything my soul is asking of me is new territory and it’s scary as f*ck. So scary I am doing everything except listen to the call to write. And now I understand why. It isnt just about writing, it’s about discovering the bounds of my sovereignty and finding my meaning beyond my roles. It’s about truly finding and knowing myself, a self that does goes against everything this culture stands for. I’ve been wrestling with this for 4 years. I’ve been directing my mother energy into everyone and everything except myself. And honestly I am unhappy with the results. This is a piece of why things went bad with the adoption and this harm reduction work is necessary. I was not being congruent with what is true for me and I lost myself. If I am not intimate with myself, how can I truly be intimate with others?
I’ve been wrestling with all of this for a good long time. What’s different now is that I am no longer distracted by the need to heal and I am feeling the discomfort of not following the call of my soul. It’s becoming painful. Yesterday was an epic battle with resistance and It won. But I’m here writing today and that’s something.