My Yellow Room

I’m sitting in my yellow room typing, and I LOVE this yellow room. It makes me smile every time I walk into it. Sometimes I look up from my computer and just have to smile at the colors and the expressions of myself in this space. This room is me. Books, paper, dolls, stuffed animals, colors, pens, pencils, fabrics, textures. Millie has a bed next to my desk and she curls up to sleep by me while I write or jump from site to site on the internet.

It is not perfect, but then neither am I. A process is at work here, on the room and on myself. As trite and cliche as it seems, I hope to find myself in this room by typing on my computer while surrounded by light and color. To find joy and peace and tranquillité. 

I Am a Writer

I am a writer.

I’m not sure the first time I applied that to myself. I’ve felt that I was a writer my entire life, but it seemed too lofty a title to apply to me. Writers are people like Hemingway and L’Engle. Hawthorne and Thoreau. My father was a literature professor. He taught about writers. Clearly I did not belong in that illustrious list.

But in my heart I wrote. In the third grade, I wrote a play about pilgrims that our class presented to the entire school. I have no memory of writing the play, nor do I have a copy of it, but I have a mental picture of myself dressed as a pilgrim in my black dress, white apron, and white cap. My bangs are in disarray, but I’m smiling my snaggletooth grin, as I stand front and center on the stage taking a bow as the author.

I wrote vociferously all through middle school and high school. Pouring out angst on to lined notebook paper. Writing all the things I couldn’t say aloud for fear of judgment or humiliation, and then I would rip those pages to shreds and throw them into trashcans, humiliated and embarrassed by my own self-centeredness and gall.

In later years I attempted to keep a diary, but I was so concerned with someone else finding it and reading it that I was hampered in expressing my reality. So those diaries looked more like log books of daily occurrences and “appropriate” commentary on life. It wasn’t until I began to acknowledge the abuse I suffered as a child that I began to write in my true voice, and even then I worried that I was creating – writing not my true voice, but the voice I thought I should have.  It took 9 years before I put anything out for public consumption -- a leap of terrifying faith in myself to post a blog. Who could possibly care what I had to say? Surely the world would come crashing down on me for having the nerve to share what I thought and felt.

I’ve been writing regularly for nearly 6 years. I write something almost every day. I don’t need someone else to validate it, but it’s nice when that happens. I write because that’s the best way for me to stay connected with my own voice. Sure I write for other people, and I always hope that my words help someone else in some way, but mostly I write because I want to, because I love it. I love doing it and having done it and having evidence of what goes on in my brain.

linking up with On Being a Writer and Yeah Write

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Just Write

I've been thinking about writing a lot more lately. Between 31 Days of Writing and NaNoWriMo, the idea of writing, being a writer, has been more concrete in my head.

Last night as Alan and I were re-watching Finding Forrester, I was caught by these words:

Why is it the words we write for ourselves are so much

better that the words we write for others.

Followed immediately by this:

No thinking - that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is... to write, not to think!

This resonated deeply with me, because it is truth. When I write from my heart and soul, with the editor muted, the truth is so apparent. The struggle to find the word or phrase that expresses just what I want is cut short, because I don't worry about words or phrasing. I speak from my heart.

Writers are frequently damaged people. We write to clarify what is floating around in our heads. We write for ourselves. I write to clear the fog, to see the truth, to find evidence, to convince myself of reality, and to reclaim my self-esteem. I don't know if those are honorable intentions or not, but that's why I write.

“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”

― Anaïs Nin

linking up with Just Write

12 Lines

Write a post in just 12 lines --

I've been guided by numbers since October 1st.

October was 31 days of writing and I wrote 34 posts.

November 1st started NaNoWriMo -- write 50,000 words in 30 days.

I've got 5031 words written so far.

Right now I need to write 1799 words a day to finish on time.

I've been timing myself and can usually write 300 to 500 words in 15 minutes if all goes well.

I'm not used to thinking in terms of numbers with my writing. 

I write.

I don't count.

Counting is my husband's job (he's an actuary).

But for right now, I'm counting as I write.

And hoping the words I write will count somehow.

linking up with Writer's Workshop

NaNoWriMo and PTSD

Let me start by saying, I promise every post in November will not be about NaNoWriMo, and I doubt I'll be sharing much, if any, of that writing in this space.

I wrote almost 1400 words on Saturday (11/1) and was surprised at how quickly I began to struggle with PTSD symptoms -- shaking hands, racing heart, roiling stomach. It's difficult to want to write things out, but still be so overcome with emotions while doing it. Unfortunately it also makes me question how "healed" I truly am. I think there is still a part of me that believes I will get to the point where talking about it (or writing) will not induce any emotional response -- that is how I will I know I have arrived at healing. Not very realistic. 

So the question becomes "How do I write it out without suffering from it?" I pulled out my journal from the beginning of therapy Saturday night to check some details and dates. As I began to read I was drawn into denigrating myself from that time. I shook it off and reminded myself to think kindly on this person, as I would for anyone else with a traumatic story to share. When I set the pages aside, I realized I had no idea what time or day it was. That is how quickly I fell back into the old coping mechanisms.

I reached out for help. I posted a query on the help thread at NaNoWriMo --

Okay I'm new to this whole thing. I am writing a novel/memoir based on healing from childhood sexual abuse. I REALLY want to do this, but already this morning I'm getting hit with dizziness, upset stomach, and mild panic from just beginning to write about specific episodes.

I have been blogging about this topic for 5 years, and I really want to create something more lasting that will get my story out and hopefully help others.

Here's my question: How do I pace myself and know when to take a break? I know I need to write around 1700 words a day to complete this thing. So do I break it up in smaller timed sessions and just walk away when the timer rings, or do I just keep writing even when the PTSD symptoms start to kick in?

Any insights would be greatly appreciated.

And these are the responses I got --

"Agh, I can't answer your questions.  But I'm suffering from the same thing, although very much milder.  So just wanted to give you a hug."

###

"My sympathies for your situation.  :'(  

I'm not sure what to offer, but I think the MOST important thing is that your mental health > NaNoWriMo. Maybe you'll be better off writing something like this over a longer period of time so it doesn't inflict too much. Remember, NaNoWriMo is just a self challenge, and if it becomes too distressing to force yourself to do it, you aren't under any obligation to carry on. 

Other than that, take breaks, and make sure you always put yourself as a priority. Maybe, if writing one scene is painful, you could switch to writing a lighter & more positive scene if you still want to make up that word count."

###

"Normally I'd not message someone in a generalized place like this site, but...  

Considering I just had to take a full dose of xanax (I prefer half) and beta blocker to get a ptsd episode under control by an accidental triggering (got to love random conversation just triggering ya out of no where, hmmm?), I can thoroughly relate to your comment about not knowing if ptsd/bouts would wreck your NaNo efforts.

###

Of course the good news is I got some caring responses. Comments that validated the same things I had been thinking. Give myself some grace. This is ultimately for my benefit, so I can set whatever rules and guidelines work in my particular case. 

Yesterday I talked with Alan about it, and he used those exact words -- Give yourself grace. He also reminded me that the writing didn't need to be primarily about the episodes of abuse. It's not a recounting of horrors, but rather about how I became who I am in spite of the abuse. He also "gave me permission" to stop and change subjects at any point. There is no need to stay with a particular arc if I need a break, but that doesn't mean I have to stop writing. Just switch gears.

Yesterday I took the day off -- one of the recommendations from other writers. Today I am setting up a way to establish a routine for getting the requisite time in to accomplish this goal. I need about 2 hours a day of writing time to get in my 1700 words a day. What I'm realizing is that for the sections specifically about the abuse, that time will need to be broken up into much smaller portions, maybe 5 to 10 minutes. But that's okay, because it's my story, my method.

I keep coming back to that Anne Lamott quote --

And that keeps me going.

NaNoWriMo 2014

I am not a novelist.

I can't write fiction. I love to read fiction, but I can't write it.

Each year the month of November is devoted to writing your novel. The goal is to write 50,000 words in one month. There's a website and Facebook page to keep you motivated. You can log your word count each day. Heck, there are even prizes. 

I've consider doing it for 3 years. THREE YEARS. 

I signed up yesterday after reading their description of "novel" -- We define a novel as “a lengthy work of fiction.” Beyond that, we let you decide whether what you’re writing falls under the heading of “novel.” In short: If you believe you’re writing a novel, we believe you’re writing a novel, too. 

Okay, so basically I can write anything I want and call it a novel for the purposes of this event. 

I did the math. It's close to 1700 words a day. Uhm -- that's a lot of words to all come from my head.

So wish me luck. I'm starting my memoir as a novel this month. I'm changing names to protect the guilty -- for the time being.

I've got 677 words so far.

Ready

Am I ready?

I look for signs, for guidance, for messages and callings. Is this the time to start to really write my story? To begin the slow and painful process of putting my history into a cohesive reckoning of experiences and feelings?

I entered a memoir contest a couple of weeks ago. I wrote the opening paragraph for my "memoir". I even had a friend help me with editing. It felt good to be stretching my writing muscles for something so specific.

I wrote a post about wanting to write a memoir, and how to deal with legalities. I'm thinking about meeting with an attorney. Is this really happening?

Am I ready?

Is now the time to delve into all those old journals and ramblings on my computer, in my file cabinet, on my blog? Is my psyche ready to open those old wounds yet again and lay them out for others to see?

I don't know. But I do know I'm ready to find out.


linking up with Five Minute Friday

Writing Memoir

People have been telling me to do it for years. I've wanted it finished for years. A memoir. The telling of my history. Not because I'm famous or have done something amazing, but because I have a story to tell (just like everyone does), and it would feel good (and maybe help someone else?) to have it neatly chronicled and available for perusal.

I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I just finished reading Emily Wierenga's Atlas Girl -- a lyrical memoir of her life thus far. She is blessed to have relationships that made it possible to seek her family's help in writing her story.

I do not have that. While it would be beneficial to gain information from my extended family regarding my history, that is not something we discuss. We don't discuss much of anything on the rare occasions when we do meet. 

Part of the problem in writing in memoir is how to handle the inevitable collateral damage. Other people will be impacted -- maybe even hurt -- by the telling of my story. And I don't want there to be anymore damage done.

The other, and perhaps more troubling, aspect of memoir writing for me is going through it all again. I see myself spreading out all of my journals and printing off everything in my computer. Reading through all of it again and trying to find a sequence and order for it. What I can't fathom is how to do all that without getting sucked into it again. How to focus on it well enough to write a book -- A BOOK! -- and not become so horrified, absorbed, and depressed by it all that I don't lose what I've gained. 

So I'm asking for a favor in all of this rambling. Will you pray for me? Will you ask God to tell me what He wants me to do? Will you ask Him to guide and protect me if writing a memoir is His plan?

I don't ask for help very often. Rarely irl and almost never here in this spot, but I could you use your support and prayers. So thank you.

Blessings.

Writer

 . . . one who writes. 

At what point is it fair to call myself a writer? I know people who write for a living. I've read and studied writers. I've even taught classes about works of literature. When do I shift from journaling and blogging to being a writer?

I started this blog nearly 5 years ago. I didn't have the faintest idea of what I was doing. I knew I wanted to write about the abuse I endured, but I was unclear on my motivation. I wanted to believe it was altruistic. Something to help other people, but really I was such a mess I didn't believe I had anything to share. I needed to share. I needed to get the words out and maybe hear back from somebody telling me I was okay.

I still don't have the faintest idea what I'm doing. My blog flows along with my mood, stress, and joy. I write about where I am on any given day. What I'm cooking or baking or making. I write about PTSD and the long lasting effects of child abuse. I write about my marriage -- it's ups and downs. I write (a little) about my kids and their journeys.

Maybe, just maybe being a writer is no different than being a person or a parent or a wife. Just doing those things -- breathing, birthing and raising, loving and working -- is what makes me those things.

So I write . . . because I am a writer.

linking up with Five Minute Friday

Connect

I sit down at the computer and begin to write. Sometimes with little thought to what will flow from my fingertips. Sometimes with an idea. Occasionally with a detailed concept.

I write to clear my head. I write to see if I can make sense of things in my life and in the world. I write because it's proven to provide a safe means of communication with the outside world.

I always assumed writing was about other people, and an author's own vanity. But I've come to realize that writing encompasses a lot of different drives. There is the drive to be heard and understood. There is the drive for commonality. For sure there is an arrogance to writing, more for some than others. 

There are days when I want to write something that will help someone else through difficulty, and there are days when I write solely to ease my own struggles. Those are the days I wonder about motives and feel guilty for sharing. 

Ultimately, I write to connect. I don't know most of the people who read what I write, and very few of my (presumed) regular readers comment. But somehow the process of writing it down and putting it out there helps me feel connected. 

So I sit down at the computer and begin to write.

linking up with Five Minute Friday

Writing and Bunnies

I sat at my computer last night. I don't spend time at my desk at night as a rule. But last night I was alone in the house and started looking at old posts. 

I read words I had written over the past several months. I read comments people had made. And I thought again how blogging is like a public diary. I can write for someone else to read, about all manner of things, some of them extremely personal, but I can't consistently write just for me.

When this all started it was for and about me. Lately I feel more and more compelled to make it meaningful. What I notice is the harder I try to attain that, the less meaning there is. If I write as if to myself, my true voice comes out. But if I shift my gaze for even a moment, that performer comes to the service -- shine, be impressive, get attention, make them proud. That doesn't help anyone, least of all me.

I sat and I read. And I stopped and I watched through my window as families went on walks, and runners work out the day's tension. I saw a bunny hop about in my yard nibbling clover. It hunkered down in the grass at the barking of a dog. Wild rabbits are slick and muscular. This one I've watched grow through the spring and into the summer. He's not skittish in the way I usually think of rabbits. He seems assured and confident. He just knows when it's better to run.

Maybe I need to take a few lessons from my summer friend.

linking up with Just Write

Words of Wisdom

One of the books I got for my birthday is Kinsey and Me: stories by Sue Grafton.

I've been reading Sue/Kinsey since the late '80s, so I was thrilled to see this book on shelves in stores.

I've only just started, but the quote from Grafton on the back flap really spoke to me, so I'm sharing it.

"I wish life could be edited as deftly as prose. It would be nice to go back and write a better story, correcting weaknesses and follies in the light of what I now know. What I've noticed, though, is that any attempt to trim out the dark matter takes away some of the good that was also buried in the muck. The past is a package deal and I don't believe there's a way to tell some of the truth without telling most. Wisdom comes at a price, and I have paid dearly for mine."

Just some thoughts for a Saturday.

Peace.

Next Big Thing

Welcome to the Next Big Thing! What is a blog hop? It’s a virtual event that helps readers discover new authors. The first author tags five others whose work he or she admires, who each tag five more, who each tag five more, and so on. This particular event has been so widespread, covering so many genres and talented authors, that it was impossible to say no to participating.

Let me start by saying I was stunned when my blog showed up on Mark My Word. I have known Mark since college, but somehow Facebook really connected us. Maybe it's writing and storytelling that really brought us together, and it just took the internet to provide the outlet. So thank you, Mark!

For those of you who may be new to my blog, let me tell you a little about myself. I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse (CSA) and I write a lot about the healing process, but that's not all. I am a wife to an amazing guy (27 years and counting), a mom to 2 grown kids (Claire 22 and Sam 19), a reluctant crafter (beading, crocheting, sewing, quilting), and a somewhat snobbish foodie (I love to cook, but I have my own little quirks and extreme preferences!).

In this particular hop, the authors I’ve chosen and I will each answer, on our respective blogs, the same 10 (predetermined) questions ranging from our current works in progress to our writing processes and beyond. I hope you’ll enjoy learning about our work. Please feel free to share comments and questions.

Now, here is my Next Big Thing!

1) What is the title of your book(s)?

Well this is an easy one. I have no books. My husband is itching for me to write my memoir, but it's actually harder than you might think. I like to talk and write, but I tend to ramble. I did write a piece about what my book might look like and you can read that here.

2) Where did the idea for the book come from?
When I first started addressing my past, my therapist told me there would be a great book in it someday . . . and that I should dedicate it to him! He was just that kind of guy. I want to tell my story, and have in bits in pieces, to help me heal from the past. Unfortunately, that still feels pretty selfish and petty to me. I want to get to the place that writing it all out will be to help someone else. Of course, I wouldn't mind a hugely successful book that made me fabulously rich!

3) What genre does your book come under?

Memoir, self-help, survival?

4) Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie?
Yikes! I don't really know as there would have to be different actresses portraying me at different ages. Probably Kathy Bates would be good to play me now (although she is older than I am!) I prefer not to think about actors/actresses to play the abusers, since it might make it difficult for me to continue to enjoy their work.

5) What is a one sentence synopsis for your book?
This is not just the story of abuse, but the story of one woman’s move from victim to survivor to compassionate witness.

6) Is your book self published, published by an independent publisher, or represented by an agency?

Well, since I haven't written the book yet, it's a little hard to answer this one.

7) How long did it take for you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Twelve years and counting. That's how long I've been thinking about it. I have a file cabinet drawer full of handwritten journals, and heaven only knows how many files on my computer, not to mention 3+ years of blog entries to be culled through as well.

8) What other books in your genre would you compare you story?

Denial: A Memoir of Terror by Jessica Stern, and I've been told, Haven Kimmel's works would be similar. I haven't read Kimmel's books as too many have encouraged me not to for my own sanity!

9) What or who inspired you to write this book?

Obviously, my first therapist, but my husband is the real driving force behind it. I've had other friends mention that I should, and some of my blog readers as well. Memoir is sticky, though, and especially so when it's riddled with bad people doing bad things, and no evidence to back it up. It's just my story, the way I remember it.

10) What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
Recovery and healing are processes, so the story is always changing. Sometimes for good, sometimes there's a downhill phase. I try to write through all of it. Life isn't a straight line whether you've been traumatized or not, and real life continues as it's usual pace even while you're trying to find lost parts of yourself.

Below you will find authors/bloggers who will be joining me on my blog (I hope!) next Wednesday, January 30, 2013. These are people that are real. They've done their homework and they write from the heart, sometimes funny, sometimes serious. Please be sure to bookmark and add them to your calendars for updates on works in progress and new releases! Happy Writing and Reading!

Daily Coping Skills

Ostriches Look Funny

Lisa-Jo Baker tales from a Gypsy Mama

Inner Pickle

Attic 24

The Deal

He said, "I'll make you a deal. I'll buy the laptop for you, but you have to promise to work on your book."

That was 3 years ago. What constitutes "working on your book"? Do 771 blog posts count? What about the 14 journals in my file cabinet and the 195 journal entries on my hard drive? Do they count as working on my book?

I hope so, because otherwise I haven't kept up my end of the bargain.

I really do want to write the book. For a lot of reasons:
1. to tell my story in a chronological and cohesive way
2. to get it out of my head (at least somewhat)
3. to potentially help some other people
4. (because I'd love to be a famous writer, at least for awhile)
5. to make enough money to cover the "debt" of my laptop, and maybe even get an upgrade.

But how do you put a price on a life story? What if I did write that best selling memoir? Would the money make the abuse "worth it"? And for that matter, what about the punishment the latest memoirists have suffered? It's the same old thing -- I've got no proof.

I thought about writing a fictional account. You know, changing the names to protect me from the guilty parties. But it feels too much like the lies I lived with for so long, and I'm really not good at writing fiction -- especially dialogue.

That leaves me with a debt. 

I am writing. And it might become a book someday. How important is it that what I write gets published by a publishing house, and bound in leather or vinyl or cloth or paper? Is the value of having written only determined by the number of volumes I sell or the amount of money I get from those sales? I don't think so.

Money is a nice reward for hard work, and an even nicer one for doing something I enjoy. But the ultimate reward for me is in putting thoughts into words and phrases and sentences -- in hearing from others that my thoughts and words meant something to them. Helped them somehow.

So I keep blogging and journaling and typing and dreaming about that book, but with no clear cut vision of how it would evolve. And I think that's okay. Because what I'm finding along this path is really so much more than a career or profession. I'm reintroducing myself to me.

Money would be nice, but self worth, now there's a reward.

linking up at Red Writing Hood

Day 4 of 31

I have a confession to make. I don't do much editing. Some of you may be thinking, "Well, duh. That's obvious."

I try to look for typos and word repetition, but beyond that what you see here is pretty much stream of consciousness.

I grew up with an English professor for a father. I never once asked him to proof-read a paper, and he never volunteered. I was terrified of turning a paper over to him. I went to college where he taught (and was head of the English department), so I avoided any English classes that required much writing. Sure I took freshman comp. The teacher I had gave me a D on an essay because I had a comma splice in it. It should have been an F, but even he couldn't bring himself to me and F.

Grammar and style are important, don't misunderstand. There is nothing more difficult for me than trying to read a piece of writing full of disjointed sentences and misspelled words, but, and this is a big one, the point of so much writing is to get our hearts out -- to be seen, really seen. I hate to think that there are people out there with so much to say and so much bottled up that needs to spill out, but they hesitate because they might get the sentence structure wrong.

So I agree with Lisa-Jo today. Turn off that editor in your head, and write. And link up tomorrow with 5 Minute Friday it's a great way to get started!

linking up with Lisa-Jo and Ann Voskamp

31 Days

Two of the blogs I read regularly are doing it. And I wonder about the benefit of following suit, all the while wondering about the topic to pick. Abuse? Recovery? Relationships? God?
I talked with my husband yesterday about the difference between whining and talking through difficult things. I'm still a little foggy, but it's becoming clearer I think.
So what could I write about every day for the next 31 days that would benefit both you and me? 
Maybe the answer is, whatever comes to mind on any given day. Lisa-Jo is writing about her life as a writer. Ann Voskamp is writing about crazy joy.
I can't make any guarantees about what will happen, but I'm going to share for the next 31 days. 
Buckle up, it could be a very bumpy ride.

Day #1 --
I'm eclectic. Anyone who's read my blog for any length of time knows that. I'm also insecure and full of self-doubt, but at the same time I am driven to write. I argue that it is to clear my own head, and that is true. But what is also true, is that I crave validation. Maybe everyone does. My need goes back to an abusive childhood where I was constantly denigrated. I want to trust in my own belief that I am a person of value. (All people have value because we are all made in God's image.) I know in my head that it is a good thing to share and talk and wonder, but my heart has difficulty following. I know others don't have it all together, but I have difficulty retaining that concept.

I started out by saying I'm eclectic. And I am, in decor and music and books and movies. But I'm also eclectic in emotion -- I was raised in the Bible belt and have the emotions and convictions of my conservative history. I was abused emotionally, physically, and sexually by numerous individuals, so I have all of the baggage that implies. But I have a master's degree and was raised by a minister/American literature professor who quoted Mark Twain more than scripture. I love to cook and crochet and read and watch crime shows and independent films. I like k.d. lang, Evanescence, Michael Buble, and James Taylor.

So what does this tell you about me and why does it matter?
It matters because I need to feel that I matter to someone out there. That the abuser was wrong when she said she could drown me in the well and no one would even miss me.
Would you miss me?


linking up with Lisa-Jo and Ann Voskamp

Goals and Ambitions

I started writing years ago. That random journaling that girls do all through high school. Writing down feelings, pain, thoughts, dreams, desires.
I gave it up. It seemed silly, childish, and immature. All that whining.
I went into therapy around 30. The counselor suggested journaling, but all I could do was chronicle my days.
I gave it up. It seemed silly, childish, and immature. All that minutiae.
I forged ahead trying to live my life the way everyone told me I should.
I broke.
I started writing again. It was the only way to get the thoughts and pictures in my head to calm down. It seemed silly, childish, and immature. But this time I couldn't give it up. I needed to "tell" someone. 
I vomited out all the horror of abuse, betrayal, distrust, and shame.
Eventually I started to share what I'd written.
I started a blog.
I wanted to share my past, my present, and my dreams for my future.
I questioned my reasons. I wrote anyway.
I dream of writing a book that is cohesive -- that helps other people with similar struggles. 
I wonder about my motivations. Are they pure? 
I wonder if I am setting myself up as a survivor. Am I survivor?
I worry about questions asked that I can't answer.
I worry about memoirs that are discounted after the fact.
I worry about someone calling me a liar, just like they said would happen.
But I keep writing. Telling the story. Sharing the pain. Hoping for the best.
I'm not sure if those are goals, ambitions, aspirations. I just know it's what keeps me moving forward. Because maybe it wasn't ever silly, childish, and immature. Maybe it is just my life. And that makes it worth telling.

linking up at Red Writing Hood

What's the Point?

I've been blogging for just over 3 years now, and I recently stopped while looking at my stats (I am a stats slut!) and wondered "What's the point?"

I write about a variety of things, but the majority has to do in some way with recovery from childhood sexual abuse. I write because it helps me process things, and I hope that my processing may help someone else.

But I also write to help me remember -- to remember the truth of the abuse; to remember that it really did happen; to remember that it (the abuse) causes most of the day to day struggles I have.

What I've found from writing it out is that
:: I am not alone. There are a lot of folks out there using blogging as a way to connect. And there are a lot of folks out there using it as therapy. And that's okay.
:: it's not a self-centered activity. For a long time I thought most blogging was just vanity. What I've found in my experience is it's not just vanity. It's an opportunity to connect in a concrete way, albeit through cyberspace.
:: feedback is important, but not vital. It's amazing how empowering it can be to have strangers pat you on the back and give me an "atta girl". I didn't get much of that growing up, so it's really nice to get some now. But it's also empowering to just get it said.
:: I've "met" some wonderful people through this process, and they have helped me in ways they may never fully realize.

So here's what I've decided. I blog because I like to. I've always wanted to write and be read. I want to write a book about my experiences, but I don't know if I have the skill . . . the patience . . . the strength. Blogging lets me test the waters. Test my strengths and weaknesses.

So thanks to all of you for your support over the past 3 years.

I'm not going anywhere, so stick around.

Blessings!

Easy Writing

I have difficulty expressing my deepest feelings verbally. I don't think well on my feet as a rule, but what I have found over the years, is how much easier it is to put those deep thoughts and emotions into writing.
I write most days. It used to be journaling to control the vortex of memories. Now it's more blogging about how I've traversed this path to healing. 
I just start writing and let it flow. There's not much planning or preparation, and even less editing (hence all the typos!). I find that if I over-think it I mess it up.
Now it goes against my nature to admit that anything comes easily to me. It's that pride thing. Someone will surely come along and pull the rug out from under me, proving that I'm wrong. And lets be clear, I'm not saying that I write remarkable, life altering prose -- well maybe not for anyone else, but most of it is therapeutic for me. 
So there's no real rhyme or reason to how I write. 
Why I write is another issue altogether. I write to remember who I am. What I'm worth. And to honor myself for having survived.
And if that makes me vain, selfish, or self-centered, I can live with that.

linking up at Mama Kat's

Stirring the Writer

I read emily's post yesterday and it made me think about my own list. What books have impacted me the most in my life and writing? It's a risk putting it out there. A friend of mine just had his list of life affirming songs maligned by a reader, so I recognize the danger in this. 

For good or ill, my 10 would look like this (today): 

In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden

:: first published in 1975, Godden tells the story of a business woman who gives it all up for the cloistered life. It gave me a picture of religious life from the outside looking in, and made me appreciate a concept that had been scorned in my childhood.

The Poison Wood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

:: although not a missionary's child, I found my family in this book. My father is a minister and interestingly my older sister and I both read this book at different times, and both told our father he had to read it. 

Anna's Book by Ruth Rendell

:: I love a good mystery and this one is so wonderfully convoluted and filled with familial angst and passion that I've read it numerous times.

John Chancellor Makes Me Cry by Anne Rivers Siddon

:: Siddon is a Southern novelist, but this collection of essays made me realize how much I like the genre. Her collection of memoirs from her life made me realize how the ordinary is extraordinary.

The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams

:: I don't recall reading this as a child. I read it for a college class on children's literature and was found in the line "When [someone] loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

Keeping House by Margaret Peterson

:: spirituality and housekeeping -- a blending I had been looking for my entire life.

Leaving Church by Barbara Brown Taylor

:: the struggle we all have in blending corporate religion and our own personal relationship with God. It was a revelation to find I was not only not alone, but rather part of a large contingency of Christians.

Life of Pi by Yann Martel

:: fiction that I had to read with a pen in hand. So much underlined and starred! I was so intrigued and caught up in the story, that I never saw the truth until it was forced upon me.

Trauma and Recovery by Judith Herman

:: the first (and maybe only) book to help me make sense of my PTSD/abuse issues. Perhaps it is the incredibly readable yet totally intellectual writing that pulled me in and gave me comfort.

The Feast by Joshua Graves

:: "To imagine what it would be like for things on earth to be as they are in heaven". Maybe it's radical Christianity, maybe it's just Christianity, but it was such a relief to see it in writing and allow myself to be challenged.

For good or ill, there they are -- with the realization that the list could be altered tomorrow. These are the books that have stirred my longing to write.

How about you?