I wasn’t able to write at all for the majority of my life. Not even in a journal. I would always be drawn to them, I would love the beautiful covers. I would buy the different pens. I had so many left blank throughout my house begging to be filled throughout the years. Where would I even begin? I would make a half ass attempt for a short time – maybe pulling up a journal prompt to start the process. Get in the habit of writing 5 things I was grateful for for a couple months here and there. I never considered myself someone that had anything to say. Someone that could write. I was scared to fill the page.
In July 2020 I needed something creative. It began with stickers as odd as that sounds. I found so many for so cheap and I bought them all for inspiration. This turned into questioning what could I make? What could I sell? What do I want to learn? My grandpa (my dad’s dad) made jewelry as a hobby, and my dad always used art as a form of therapy as well. So I decided to start making jewelry. But as I was going through this process of learning something else happened to me. It was almost as if creating jewelry was my form of meditation. It was almost as if something else was being released.
I will never forget when the writing started. It began on a Thursday evening and it didn’t stop until Sunday afternoon. I had to call in sick to my job on Friday to write. I filled a whole notebook in 2 days and it went from writing whatever was pouring out of me to writing actual poems. I had never written a poem in my life before this day. By Sunday afternoon I had several poems and they just kept pouring out of me, one after another after another. I had to carry a notebook with me everywhere I went. Lines would pop in my head in the shower. As I was trying to fall asleep. Poems about past traumas. About society. About my life. About everything.
In the matter of two weeks I had written 100 poems. I had filled two notebooks. I had formed a process of writing the poems and was starting to understand my writing process. Over time, it helped me to start to process more of my trauma – writing was my answer to healing. Writing was the key to getting the pain out of me. For over a year I wrote. Poem after poem. Short stories. Journal entries of the most painful experiences I ever endured. Four, five, six notebooks full.
Now, almost two years after the jewelry making began, I have typed up and edited the poems into what I hope will become something I can publish someday. I decided to write this blog (even though I don’t really know how blogs work) in hopes that someone, somewhere will be interested in my story. That it may help someone along their journey.
I suppose the point of it all is you never really know what is hiding inside of you trying to break free. Somewhere inside your subconscious mind is trying to speak to you. Will you listen? Will you follow where your soul is guiding you? What do you have lying around that has been left blank for so long? Maybe that is where your next answer lies.
The Girl Without A Face 