Run like the wind
At a time when our internal narratives are subject to questioning for accuracy, I decided to examine my own. I am quite aware of the stories I tell myself, familiar refrains of the terrible things that were done and said, but after completing a four day expressive writing journey, I found something interesting.
Something new opened up in my brain, and I had a desire not to rewrite my history, but to reclaim it. Every detail, every sight and sound, every moment, but this time around, with a desire to hyper focus on recalling what good there also might have been.
After all, my Dad deserves some credit. After all, most parents do.
I came acrossJames Pennebaker, PhD (click on his name to learn more) research onexpressive writing quite by accident (or maybe more like algorithm but that’s neither here nor there) and immediately locked in. Yes, I would like to recover fully from my trauma. Yes, I would like to convert whatever trauma that’s stored in my body into language. Yes, I would like to improve my immune function. Yes, I would love to reduce the chronic cortisol level in my body. Yes, I would like less anxiety and depression. Yes, yes, yes.
Are you locked in now too?
I know I’ve talked about writing before, and I usually write something small every day. What was different this time, was the 4 day, 20 minute prescription, and having to chose very specific things to write about versus my usual free style way. What one goes through when they have a list of traumas to chose from. I’ll spare you the details, but this is how the week panned out.
Day 1-20 minutes and 4 pages
Day 2-20 minutes plus another 40 minutes and 7 pages
Day 3-20 minutes and 3 pages
Day 4-20 minutes and 4 pages
And then it was done.
And I was glad.
I really wanted it to be done by Day 2. I knew I could expect to feel grumpy through this process but I was mad because there was so much to write. The realization of how much this thing took out of my life, my time, and impacted my soul, piled fury on top of the original anger.
Granted, I had other opportunities that week to exacerbate my mood. My Dad would have turned 91 on Day 2 so the timing was bad. In hindsight, I see the connection in the comment above about my Dad, because I tried to write this contemplation that week. But eventually my mood started to shift and my thoughts began to transmute, and I found myself angry in a ‘taking back my power’ sort of way. Damnit, all this deep dive into my entire history had me listening to music from the late 70’s, and my urge to run again came back out of nowhere. I was fired up because I had turned away from so much awful, I left the good behind with it, and that suddenly became unacceptable. I wanted ALL of me, the adorable 5 year old girl who knew nothing from Adam and who’s innocence was palpable. I wanted the 15 year old with insane hair and braces and those days when she COULD feel like a real teenager for a moment. I wanted the confused and lost 20 something year old who straddled being such a young Mom with her own demons. And I wanted my Dad to get credit for the great things he did for me. The Snoopy earrings he bought me for my birthday all by himself. The early ass mornings he took me fishing with him. The way he called me Andy with such affection (that’s an entirely different story).
I am all of her and we are powerful. A force to be reckoned with. Striped shirts for days, braided pig tails, 3 stripe Adidas knee socks, and running like the wind to the best music the 70’s has to offer.
This is my new joy, and the gift I received from those four days. I call this my integration phase. Will you join me?
Big smiles,
Elisha