Friday Night Writes.
Last week, I reunited with my writing coach and my original writing group, whom I hadn't been connected to for over 3 years. It was extremely powerful for me; I cried the whole time. I cried because I needed to, I am someone who believes crying is necessary when you need to feel and move past something. 2019 was a big year of grief for me, so I put it on paper and I believe it's one of the reasons that I had a really joyful, positive week. It's like I had to clear out my container to make space for faith and joy.
Before I took my break from the group, I had been writing with them every Wednesday for years. I haven't always been a writer. In fact, before I met Janet Johnston, my writing coach, I never wrote. Not ever. I had always been bad at grammar, punctuation, and spelling and so I considered myself a horrible writer and never even attempted it. Janet taught me that those things aren't as important as the stories being told and the voice inside that needs to be heard. I started writing with her in my late 30s and have found that it's one of the most necessary parts of my healing.
Writing makes me slow down and feel. Writing allows me to heal.
Janet taught me how to write in a writing style developed by Pat Schneider. It's called AWA, and the process starts with a prompt and we are given 15 minutes to write whatever we want. We can follow the prompt if we want or not. We get to share the writing if we want or not. We listen to each other’s stories and we treat the writings as fiction. In this way it keeps the space safe. We get to choose how and what we share. It's the safest space I've ever experienced to share stories. Because of that and the power I have discovered there, I have shared this process with many and now hold my own writing groups.
I hold a writing group on Zoom every Friday evening at 5PM PST and I will be adding a second time this Friday at 5PM EST because the group has gotten so popular. There is space for you if you want to get in. I will keep adding times if I need to in order to support all of you. If you want to be in the group, I would love for you to join. It’s 100% free, just message me and the time you want in and I'll send you a Zoom link.
The next writing I want to share with you is a piece that I wrote a couple of years ago, after I had moved from Cleveland to Sacramento for the third time. I had gone to Cleveland for a work project and met a man that I dated for a year. He was very dear to me and I liked him a lot. His name was Frank. I stayed in Cleveland a lot longer than I wanted to because of Frank, but the rest of my life fell apart. It was my worst career year ever. Eventually, I had to leave and I chose to move to Sacramento.
I think I lied to myself and thought we could do a long distance relationship, but on the day before I left, he told me at dinner that he didn’t want to be in a long distance relationship and we broke up. The grief I felt was big. I remember sobbing hysterically at the airport, to the point that dozens of people asked if I needed help and if I was ok. All of those people were men and those men helped my heart heal that day, although they wouldn’t know it because I could barely speak. I told them all thank you but no thank you.
Not long after I moved, I gave myself 15 minutes to write about it. What came out was deeply powerful and somewhat surprising. Instead of writing about the relationship, I wrote about how I wouldn’t write about it.
13 minutes.
“You have 13 minutes and then it will be time to move on,” they tell me.
They want me to talk about it.
I grip my lips together tightly.
It’s not that the words don’t come.
It’s that too many are coming at once.
I can’t hold on to one word inside
this firestorm of emotions pulsing through my veins.
I am smoldering in the desert,
stripped naked and alone.
I can feel my whole body trembling.
There is a fire bursting forth from deep inside my belly
and the force of this flame is stronger
than my attempt to suffocate it and shove it down.
It starts exploding upward
like a volcano erupting
through my heart and ripping it open.
The pain of this break sends me into deep heavy screams.
I am sobbing as I throw myself onto the ground and curl up into a tiny ball.
Quickly, I press my hands up to my mouth,
gripping my cheeks with every finger.
Palms to my lips.
I silence myself.
The pain inside is the fiercest I have ever known.
The time on the clock has run out.
I refuse to speak of you.
Here’s my writing prompt for you….. Grab a photo (anyone will do) and write about it.
Set a timer for 15 minutes and let your heart spill out on the page. You will see what comes to life from the power of the pen.
If you want someone to listen, please write back. I will listen.
If you would like to join my Friday Night Writes Groups, let me know! Or if you’d prefer to connect inside my virtual yoga membership, The Breathless Club, I would be happy to have you!
xo,
Diana