Finding Myself.

December 6, 2012 at 6:11 pm | Posted in I Write. (aka: writing projects) | 4 Comments

So after I posted that I felt like I was unraveling, I could NOT get the image from my head. All day, I kept hearing the word “unravel.”

Lucky had a string in his sock, you see, on Monday. In the car on the way home. One of those elastic strings which you pull and pull and pull and pull, and you’re left with like 20 feet of elastic and this teeny hole in your sock. And then we got home, and I was met with the letter that essentially reminded me that my uterus sucks.

“Unraveling” was such a good word, and it evoked all these IMAGES in me, and connections, and all of a sudden that night, I had a poem. And I wrote it down. I tweaked some of the language here and there, but the process of getting that poem out was probably a half hour of my time.

Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve written poetry? YEARS. Literally years – my last poem was 6 years ago. Or so.

I used to write all the time, every day. Hell, I carried around a black and white composition book and would stop whatever it was I was doing to write something when an image came to mind. It didn’t matter where I was – one of my best poems (you know, for me, in high school) was done in my trigonometry class my senior year of high school.

Writing has always been my release. I love to create beauty with words.

So yesterday’s comments on my poem – both on this blog and in real life – gave me pause. It surprised me that people reacted to the EMOTION in it, gave me support and reassurance. Charlie merely said, “Wow. This is so sad.”

I wanted to scream, OMG THIS IS SO EXCITING!! I WROTE A POEM!!!

I was that excited.

I don’t know what the process is for real writers, but I find I can’t write about something if I’m in the thick of feeling it. I need some measure of distance in order to shape those feelings into words and images.

So when I wrote that poem that night, I felt… free. Released, somehow.

(And proud of myself, yes. That too. I took something awful – this whole miscarriage heartbreak – and turned it into something that, to me, is beautiful.)

I feel, in a lot of ways, that I am unraveling a ball of twine. It’s like I am connected to an IDEA of another baby with a piece of string, twine, fishing line, whatever – all in the hopes that if I keep pulling, maybe I’ll finally come face to face with my child. Except that I don’t think it’s going to happen for us – even moreso now after this last cycle.

And so the idea that I’ve been holding on, white-knuckled, to an IDEA… that I’ll pull on this string and find nothing at the end… I wanted to explore it some more.

What happens if we DON’T get a child out of all of this struggle? After all we’ve gone through, all the cycles, the fighting we’ve done… what if we end up with nothing? What IF that end of our string is just an idea, a figment, something that doesn’t exist? And what will *I* look like, once I’ve let go of it?

And the thing is. I can WRITE about something like this. Which means that I’m HEALING. Or, at the very least, on the path to healing. Because I can step back and write about the emotions, which means I’m not prisoner to my emotions. I am not drowning, or dying, or losing myself.

On the contrary, maybe this means I’m FINDING myself again. I’m finding my voice. My words. Not only am I able to release some of my grief through poetry, but it’s sparked this desire to write ANOTHER poem (and another, and another, and another).

You see?

That’s the silver lining, right there.



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  1. Sometimes, many times, your words leave me without any of my own. And yet I still want to mark that I read them, that they touched me so deeply as to leave me breathless. But I’m not sure how to do that. So this will have to do.

  2. Such great insight and progress. I hope you know how far you’ve come and how much you rock!

  3. In a way, you know, when people react to the emotion, they *are* reacting to the quality of the poem (maybe not your excitement about writing it, but at least to the fact of it being a poem). I mean, you’ve written many posts on this topic in the past couple months. They didn’t all make me cry. It’s because the poem was good at getting its message across that it had that effect. Therefore, it was a good poem.

    In the process of cleaning out my basement recently, I found my old poem notebook from high school. I was surprised by how many of those I remembered, not just the general idea but whole lines of them. And definitely how I felt when I wrote them.

    It is cool that you are discovering writing poems again, anyway. I really cannot figure out how someone who likes writing so much ended up being an accountant!

    • Deborah – me neither! There are days, at work, where I think: How did I get here? And I just shake my head and laugh. It’s kind of ridiculous. đŸ™‚


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