Heard
A long time ago, in a marriage far, far away, I was very, very sick. I didn't yet know I had Crohn's disease, or even that it was as bad as it was, burrowing into my system and making me sicker and sicker. But I knew, deep down, something was very wrong, even if the doctors didn't yet know what was wrong with me (I had one rocket scientist tell me the fact that I lost 25 pounds in one month when I wasn't even trying was simply "stress"). And there was ONE night . . . And I can't even recall what it was--maybe dinner wasn't ready or the laundry wasn't done. To be honest, and I always strive to be on this blog, I think I wasn't in the proverbial mood. And the man I was married to said, "Come on . . . you're not THAT sick." And, in one moment, the final one of many moments, I knew I would take my infant baby and leave. And I did.
But this isn't really about that marriage. It's about being heard. Because, truly, isn't that what we all strive for? We don't want to be minimized. We don't want to be dismissed or discounted. We want to make connections with others and be heard.
I think the transformation of my writing occurred when I went from minimizing my own work, to feeling I had something to say. That somewhere inside me was a story that I wanted to tell. That it wasn't a hobby. It wasn't about some journal-esque process of self-discovery (which is all well and good, but wasn't my journey). What I wrote wasn't the blatherings of a mother with baby spit-up all over her shirt (well, maybe it was). That what I had to say could be funny and endearing and sad and poignant. And that I wanted to write my words down. I wanted them in print.
Now, it didn't really matter if the only people who ever "heard" me was my critique group for a while. Though I aspired to be published, I was also looking to simply say something. But then I did get published--and I think that happened when I stood a little straighter, when I decided I would be heard whether people around me liked it or not. (And often they didn't.) Whether it made me unpopular or people decided I was a b*tch.
Time passed . . . and oddly enough, I am "heard" so much in my own world--with my children and my significant other . . . even those disobedient dogs . . . with my girlfriends, with my guy friends . . . with the people who mean so much to me . . . that I am not particularly "difficult" anymore. I am more at peace. And my writing has gotten, if anything, deeper and more cutting to the core of who I am and what I have to say.
So that's been my journey. I honestly feel when I decided I had worth in what I had to say that the doors to publication opened for me. I wasn't a 25-year-old mom with a dark secret of a house full of holes in the wall where my husband lost his temper. I was THAT sick, but that also didn't mean I couldn't write. I had something to say. And it had meaning. That was MY journey. But I ask . . . what is it you need to say? Are you heard?
Peace,
E
But this isn't really about that marriage. It's about being heard. Because, truly, isn't that what we all strive for? We don't want to be minimized. We don't want to be dismissed or discounted. We want to make connections with others and be heard.
I think the transformation of my writing occurred when I went from minimizing my own work, to feeling I had something to say. That somewhere inside me was a story that I wanted to tell. That it wasn't a hobby. It wasn't about some journal-esque process of self-discovery (which is all well and good, but wasn't my journey). What I wrote wasn't the blatherings of a mother with baby spit-up all over her shirt (well, maybe it was). That what I had to say could be funny and endearing and sad and poignant. And that I wanted to write my words down. I wanted them in print.
Now, it didn't really matter if the only people who ever "heard" me was my critique group for a while. Though I aspired to be published, I was also looking to simply say something. But then I did get published--and I think that happened when I stood a little straighter, when I decided I would be heard whether people around me liked it or not. (And often they didn't.) Whether it made me unpopular or people decided I was a b*tch.
Time passed . . . and oddly enough, I am "heard" so much in my own world--with my children and my significant other . . . even those disobedient dogs . . . with my girlfriends, with my guy friends . . . with the people who mean so much to me . . . that I am not particularly "difficult" anymore. I am more at peace. And my writing has gotten, if anything, deeper and more cutting to the core of who I am and what I have to say.
So that's been my journey. I honestly feel when I decided I had worth in what I had to say that the doors to publication opened for me. I wasn't a 25-year-old mom with a dark secret of a house full of holes in the wall where my husband lost his temper. I was THAT sick, but that also didn't mean I couldn't write. I had something to say. And it had meaning. That was MY journey. But I ask . . . what is it you need to say? Are you heard?
Peace,
E
Labels: writer's journey
posted by Erica Orloff at 8:11 AM
15 Comments:
I've always had the need you describe, to express that inner core of feelings that only music and story--not words--can get to. I love writing and I love music, but I know for certain that if I wasn't being heard through those vehicles, I'd find another way in a heartbeat, no question.
The need to understand and express feelings TO others isn't really a need, it's like some destined certainty. I have to. It's not even a craving. It's like a predetermined "must" I have no choice about, an inner drive like a factory-installed engine that the universe fuels, not me. (Does that sound stupid? It's just how I feel...)
Spy:
Not stupid at all. In fact, your post prompts me to think of photography. My significant other is a photographer of amazing talent, and I worked in black adn white for a while and enjoyed it a LOT. And . . . I felt like I had something to say about the world with my pictures.
Also, my DREAM . . . is when the baby is a little older, provided there's not a new little guy around here (one never knows) . . . I want to go back to graduate school for documentary filmmaking, and I even have my entire film planned in my head--I cannot wait. It's a topic dear to me, and I just want to get it on film!!
E
Erica,
I "SO" relate to your not being heard about your illness. When I first exhibited symptoms of lyme disease and hypothyroidism, my ex accused me of faking my sickness and of being "conveniently" ill. I'm not exactly sure what was convenient about being in that much pain and discomfort, but....
Your recent posts have helped me to realize I've been holding back, in depicting the world around me and in tapping into and revealing non-too pleasant experiences and emotions.
Being heard is part of being acknowledged and validated, don't you think?
K-
kathy:
It's really tough being honest in writing--usually there's another voice in our head warning us that people will think this or that about us if we write what we need to say.
being heard = being validated
Definitely.
Once I realized I was a writer, it was my goal to be published, to be heard. I can't understand people who never send their stories out. It's the old story of hiding your light under a bushel. When I have a light, I want to shine it on everyone.
Hi Edie:
I was rather reticent for a long time to show my work. Some of my stuff was very personal, so I guess I felt rejection was personal too. But I got over it.
E
Erica-- What a wonderful blog entry. I know in my journey in writing, I was always constantly question, starting with the school newspaper articles. I swear every other month, the principle would come talk to me about my article and how would my family feel about said article. I remember thinking -- what's his problem. I'm writing the truth about alcoholism, about drug addiction, about child abuse, and teenage boredom. I absolutely refused to be silenced and talked him into letting each article be published. I also didn't care if other people or my family didn't approve.
Today, I wonder where that brave girl has gone. I never questioned what I wrote. I always had a message that I yearned for people to read.
People and even family members are scared of writers. No one treats me as if I am working at home. And they sort of smile in a patronizing way when I say I'm writing a book. Yet-- here I am still writing.
And I am one of those writers that have a very difficult time putting my work out there. I have a collection of essays that should be sent out for an attmept at publication. The essays are personal and powerful and I'm scared to let them go even after two writing professors said I need to publish.
I just wanted to say that your blog today brought back memories of the girl who would write to change the world.
Thank you.
Tina
Hi Tina:
Thank you so much for sharing your story! I started out as a journalism major in college and I remember that passion, too. :-)
Erica
I too feel that need to be heard, as a writer and as a human being.
Lately though I have become aware that as much as I feel that need to be heard, I recognize that same need in others who may not be able to or have the talent to be heard as well as a writer/journalist. I wonder if there is a way that we could write a story, that the reader/audience could feel included in the expression of thoughts, ideas and emotions - that they could indeed feel expressed by their being with the text, inside of the authors words.
Hmmm... looks like I have something else to explore here.
OK, so put me down for a 'need to be heard' and I'll go down this rabbit-hole off-line :)
Hi Ewoh:
Something interactive. An "experience," as they say. Like walking through a giant art installation!
:-)
E
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In some ways, I feel I'm nothing more than street juggler, an entertainer, taking people to other places for a while. Throw me some change and I'll do a little dance and shake my tambourine and throw bottles in the air.
In other ways, I feel I have a soul sickness and that writing is something of a...cleansing process. When themes emerge, they emerge subconsciously. They surprise and delight me, and I can only hope they might be of interest to someone else.
Mostly, I'm just a guy pulling rabbits out of hats and surviving one day at a time.
Erica, this was a very thought-provoking blog post.
I have a lot of friends and a husband who 'hear' me, but I find writing is a way I can express myself with complete freedom. The writing is the core of it, whether I get published, or not.
Hi Jude:
The Mr. Bojangles of the writing world . . . .
E
Michele:
Thank you for sharing. I agree, for most of us, writing opens something else in us entirely.
E
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