new

I've been re-reading Louise De Salvo's Writing as a Way of Healing. My writing group is having growing pains so I was reminding myself why being in a group was valuable.

The women in my group write all different types of writing. Occassionally, we're more conscious of pleasing the writing group than in improving our writing.

Anyhow, DeSalvo said something about how it's important to know if others understand what we're saying in our writing and NOT if they like what we're writing. That tiny distinction is huge. She was saying, no one would "like" a Holocaust memoir but it doesn't mean "I didn't like reading it" means it shouldn't have been written, wasn't accurate, necessary and poignant writing...

So, it helped me re-remember all I DO believe about the power of speaking/writing the truth, telling stories and how transformative that all is. And how truth changes lives.

For example, it might have been helpful to know, when I was becoming a parent, that paying attention to a little being all of the time is utterly exhausting. Sleep deprivation makes me tired. Lots of sleep deprivation makes me a basket case. But to constantly pay attention to someone else when you're a trauma survivor, introvert and have spent a LONG time in your head takes an enormous shift in a way of being. I am a better, more loving, less selfish person. And, I'm so friggin tired most of the time. Being a conscious person is not easy.

Sometimes I wished I smoked cigarettes just so I had an excuse in the middle of anything to go stand outside and suck in the air and stare at the sky. Maybe if I drank more, I'd sink into that false optimism of a good buzz. But no. Drinking makes me sleepy. Smokers are stinky. I wonder if bubble gum cigarettes could be made to emit real smoke? I could pretend to be a smoker but without the health ricks. Of course, I guess when I start chewing my butts people will be on to me or wonder.
Oh well... getting used to this blog world.