I went to a writing workshop about 10 years ago. I’ve been to several, but this one is significant because I still hear the speaker’s words in my soul. They were directed at me, specifically, as he responded to a comment that I had made. The comment was solicited, in general, and appropriate in context. He said, with both a dismissive and a derogatory laugh: “Oh, you’re one of those. ‘I’m friendly and happy. Read my well crafted words.’ Well, you’re wrong, babe. You’re just covering up all the grief that will make you worth reading.”
When this pops back into my heart, I have thought that he was seeing that part of me that will twist into a pretzel to keep the peace within any eclectic and potentially volatile conversation. I hear words of condemnation for my attitude, or the way I present myself, or the depth of my contribution to the world. The friendly, happy well crafted part of his dismissal plays in my head – that and not being worth reading. Somehow, covering up the grief goes unnoticed, isn’t considered with the rest.
Steve loves performing. At the completion of a good production, he mourns. It looks like watching football. It tastes like a good beer and buttery popcorn. It sounds like humming tunes from the show and reminiscence. He is quieter than usual, introspective. He sits close to me. He ponders and smiles.
Abigail relishes relationships. She shines brightest when she has people to care for, problems to listen to, purpose(s)to fulfill. When relationships change: grow, blossom, move-on, get bigger, transform — she mourns. It looks like playing on her phone. It tastes of chocolate and sugar. It sounds like random rants of intellectual amazingness. She is stormier looking than usual, introspective. She scrunches into a small ball beside me. She pets cats and breathes.
They did these things yesterday.
Our family changed this weekend. We grew. We gained a son, a brother, a husband. A man who has been a substantial part of our lives for about seven years – made a promise to Audrey before God, his family, and friends. They have permanently linked two families through their words, their choices and their promises.
Creating change.
Where there were four, now stand 5. Dawn taught me that. “We were all gathered in the room, and I said there will be the three of you gathered now – or the five of you. But seldom will it be the four of you. That is fine, and good, and understood. But different.”
And I finally hear the rest of my critics words – his point, if you will.
I linger in passions – reveling in the sparks, the struggles, the hardships associated with finding our way through the muck of the world and diving into the depths of who we were meant to be. When the passions are plentiful and big – I mourn. It looks like doing – cooking or straightening or working on a project – or playing on my phone. It tastes of mounds of buttercream frosting, mashed potatoes – and coffee. It sounds distant, and silent and probably a little bit cold. I stay near my family. I hide – and I write.
Covering up the grief was the point he was making. Covering up the grief.
And I do. As so many of you do. Grief is inconvenient. It sits inappropriately on my chest and comes unbidden into my heart. There is absolutely nothing about the expansion of this family, the beauty of this new marriage, the promises between their focused hearts, the joy of moving into a new phase in all of our lives – that I would change, that I don’t embrace, that I’m not thankful for. Nothing.
And in this moment. On this morning. Surrounded by familiar: coffee, pets, sunshine, and the clutter of my everyday life: I admit to that feeling of grief. Change. Longing for tiny blonde curls under a purple tutu hat. Mud pie mixtures, snow clothes piled to the ceiling, mime rehearsals and reading stories each and every night. I fret feeling useless, being irrelevant, losing my muchness, growing restless, being alone. I think of family that wouldn’t come, and my status as an orphaned adult.
As I uncover the guilt, and lay it out there to be read – commit to the sharing of my thoughts, I know that my words are worth reading. Because life is raw. And God intended for our children to grow. And friends become family. And trust becomes easier. And perspectives can and should change.
I am so much richer this morning than I was on Friday. My beautiful three have expanded to a magnificent 4…..and beyond. I re-defined family this weekend. Family speaks to me through creating a wedding, through seeing this beautiful couple, by sharing their messy grieving, by traveling across country – across years – across barriers in my brain: and by restoring my ability to trust someone other than Steve, Abby and Audrey.
I promise to remember all of this. And to write when I grieve, so that we can all have words worth reading.
wanderingoutinleftfield 
What an excellent perspective. Thanks for sharing it with me. However, I somewhat disagree with your esteemed speaker. While there can be interesting and insightful nuggets that may only be revealed through showing your grief, I find nothing wrong with reading happy stories either as they can help you see from a happier perspective. God help us if the Bible was only composed of Lamentations. 🙂
Thank you for reading, and seeing my thoughts as worthy of comment. But especially, thank you for caring enough to present another-excellent-perspective.
As I gobble down my biscuits and gravy I patiently prepared I am finding myself not being able to focus on my plate anymore but focus on reading your thoughts. As scary as this may seem , I can hear you, see you, and strangely enough feel how your feeling. Spending a lot of time with you for the past 2 years has allowed me to know you as a person inside and out and all I have to say is this…..
With all of the things I have read this far why oh why do you not have a book written yet? And with that comes my next question from talking to you and knowing you do you ever catch yourself helping others with the everyday issues<<<<sometimes relate to your own, and forget that you have had the answers all along but just never took the leap to do the same as you have advised others? And why do you think that is?
Because I am the same way I can try and help people all day long with their problems and those problems could be just like mine but I'm to stubborn to worry about me and I worry about others before myself.
Love the journal
Sorry it took so long to read
Don’t apologize for having a busy life, woman — I’m thrilled you read and even more excited that I get feedback. I don’t have a book written because I just plain don’t know what that book is. If you’ve got any suggestions — I’m listening!
And in answer to your other question: I am extremely aware that my advice, words, comments – thoughts for others are frequently things that I need to be doing and had never thought to do. But my growth has come in that I now am so aware, that I am often incorporating into my own life before I’ll allow the words to come floating out of my mouth to someone else. Practicing the preaching, you might say. Not infallible with it by any means — and often the ‘aha’ moment comes to me WHILE I am writing. It’s through writing that I have been able to grow. At least a little.
Okay, I choose this one. I’ve read several of these entries but choose to respond on this one maybe because of what your speaker said that lit a fire up under me…maybe because I’m a mother myself will someday relate to some of the things you wrote farther down.
It’s harder to respond than I thought it would be because reading your words have set my thoughts in motion and how incredible difficult those are to harness at times. I’ll do my best though considering it’s been a while.
My initial reaction to his words were not only of him dismissing you, but rather dismissing himself of a former past. I can’t think of the word for it…paradox maybe? Hang on…I have to google it (My brain told me to use it but I’m not sure I’m using it correctly…..Okay, let’s roll with it.) The man to me has obvious underlying grief himself and is threatened by your-so-called friendliness and happiness, but why? Was he you once? Happy and friendly? With well crafted words? My questions are, why can one only be worth reading if it is grief they are writing about? Isn’t that such a sad idea that we as humans absolutely know for certain we can feel and express to our core grief, but what of happiness? Can we not feel that to our core as well? Or has he (or we) never felt a happiness compared to grief like that worth writing or reading about? Sadness and ignorance comes to mind with him because laughter can be just as crucial as tears and he doesn’t know you or what you’re capable of doing. “Babe”, also to me is just another nail in the coffin that makes me want to ask, “Oh, what is it that YOU are hiding behind so well, sir?”. It’s easy to look at people I suppose, and call out their grief in a way he did with you because God knows we all know it, have felt it, can relate to it. I’m not impressed.
You tell us all the time that we so easily talk negative about ourselves and how hard it is to speak positive. I feel that concept is the very example of what this man was doing by calling you out on the ‘…way I present myself’, as you said, but what I would have been more impressed with is had he told us (Or you, sorry I’m putting myself in your situation) of the writer that can make us feel and want to read of happiness, inspiration, hope, the will to keep going, and triumph in a world so negative. If only he had encouraged you to take the gift of you and all that you are, your light, and turn it into words. Writings of a positive aspect make us trudge exhaustedly over our past, present, and which is even harder yet, strive for our future. Finding the light at the end of the tunnel dear Diane is just as worth reading as grief. It’s all in the presentation.
As I read onward I read your section of your family changing, your grieving, and once again couldn’t help but smile to myself at how close change or stepping out of our comfort zones (Sound familiar?) can been seen and felt as grief.
That brings me to what I find most fascinating about this piece you wrote because maybe you don’t realize it (or maybe you do) that what you did was reflect on what this man had said and you looked inward, but you created your happy, friendly, spin on it towards the end. You shed your light upon it. You looked inward AND onward.
I hope you never feel useless or ‘lose your muchness’ (One of my favorite lines from my beloved, Alice in Wonderland) because YOU. ARE. NEEDED. not only from a student’s aspect but from being a daughter myself. Mothers are forever engrained within us and through us, you will live forever.
Quickly, I will share with you just a small piece of my life. When we sat down last Monday and spoke, I told you of the journey I myself have taken over the past two years. I, like you believe in our Almighty God. I also believe that since He created this profound universe that He and it go together. As much as I believe in God, I also believe in the energies this universe has to offer because it is all one astonishing thing working together; the Creator and the created. I believe that:
“When you want something all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it.” – The Alchemist (Love this book!)
On my journey over the past two years I have prayed to both God and His creation to help me on my path to finding my true self and to help me find people like me, to find inspirations like you to keep going. Maybe I’m here to tell you that you will always be needed and maybe you’re here to help me get through nursing school but on a much bigger level, help me become who I’m meant to be. I asked God to help me find the writers, the different ones, the artists, the deep ones; the much more muchier people because I feel they are part of my calling. In the life I have lead, muchness is weird. Muchness was just…too much for most people, most days. I am so grateful I found you and I don’t see it as a coincidence at all because here I am on Friday morning right before my Work Keys assessment writing. I am writing, in fact, where I left off yesterday frustrated and defeated because I didn’t get to finish what I was writing to you. Most importantly I CAME BACK to what I was writing (which is so unlike me) and finished it all because of your one inspiring piece. This is so much progress!
Diane, I hope when you grieve you pour your words out like water, but I hope that when you rejoice you also do the same. The world, myself included, NEED people like you. Your light will not only help us find people like yourself, but helps us also find ourselves, and the importance in that BABE, makes your writing worth so much more than grief alone ever will.
That inward journey that you have just described – writing has always been my way of figuring out how I am feeling. Until I write it through, I often don’t know I’m angry. Or sad. Or confused. Time at writing is clarification. It’s also stopping the input long enough to assess. It just never occurred to me that someone else might be interested in my written assessments.
Sharing has become easier as I worry less about how my writing will be perceived. Just like in the classroom – each reader takes away something different. They find an idea that sparks a thought. I love where you took this – and that it resulted in something important enough to you to come back and finish.
Your words are genuine and come from your own thought process! I’m very pleased that you read, but more pleased that you wrote. Thank you for your input — but thank you, as well, for writing your thoughts! They are yours. And solid. And worthy.
Oh. And I’ve discovered that if there is something that I tell myself “I can’t” do, make, be that. I’m supposed to get over that and get it done. Annoying. But true.
So. More strides forward this year. I’ll keep track of you!
Re-reading this and missing you. xo
This is a beautiful peace. Its deep and intropsective. It really sounds like a part of a book. You may want to consider that as someone esle said. Trouble with blogs from what I have seen so far, they dont seem to go for much depth or reading that requires a lot of processing. Thats my thought. I could be wrong sleepy or both.
Thank you for this comment. I needed to know that the writing, itself, wasn’t totally off base! Maybe if I do get a book out there, THOSE readers would be interested in a meatier blog. But I’m starting to believe that it won’t work the other way around! THANK YOU.