Writing To Heal A Wounded Spirit

Writing Instead of Wallowing

May is an interesting month for me. Not only do my birthday and Mother’s Day come in May, but it’s Mental Health Awareness Month; a cause that’s near and dear to my heart, and not just because I’m the survivor of two suicides.

I could look back and blame my mom for keeping me from having the courage to follow my passion, but that passion for writing has helped me grow past such destructive habits, allowing me to find the gems in a relationship that deteriorated rapidly once I hit my teens.

Truth be told, it was my mother’s influence, and the opportunities she gave me which lit that passion in the first place. That she pushed me in another direction was a combination of her own upbringing and her desire to be loved and accepted, if not for herself, then for the accomplishments of her children. For years after her death, I blamed myself for failing her.

Since then, I’ve learned anger and blame have no place in my memories of my mom or anything else, but they did give me the kick in the butt I needed to start writing again. My upbringing, and the personality I developed as a result precluded reaching out when misery, blame, and self-doubt consumed me several years after my dad followed in my mom’s footsteps; choosing to make his exit before nature in the form of lung cancer took its course.

Following a Latent Passion

My only recourse was to do what I’d always done, and dump all my thoughts and feelings on the computer screen; writing about the pain, the misery, the unhappiness, and the abuse I perceived at the hands of those who couldn’t care less either way.

By then, though, I had a daughter who saw my potential even if I didn’t, and encouraged me to share those early ramblings, sugar-coated as they might have been when I wrote them for public consumption. She helped me learn I wasn’t alone, but had to stop hiding all the cracks in my walls so those who understood, and could relate would be able to find me.

It began with a trip to Sedona, a laptop, and a room high above the town and its collection of energetic vortexes on a Mother’s Day weekend 12 years ago. The journey continues today, and I’m lighter, happier, and more connected for it.

The memoir I started that weekend is still in disarray; broken into individual chapters for the latest rewrite. I continue to struggle with completing it, using one reason after another to put it aside. I realize none of them should get in my way any more than I allowed my mother’s unmet expectations to get in the way of my healing after her death.

Life Begins With Taking a Risk

I’ve used anger, blame, and guilt as excuses for avoiding risk, ignoring my heart’s desires, and isolating from the world for too long. I’ve come a long way from the person I was before I started sharing my writing; my wounds; my slow, painful healing.

I know the task won’t truly be ready to release so I can move forward until the memoir is rewritten, re-organized, and published in one form or another. By putting it off, I’m only harming myself, and in some ways, my relationship with my own daughters as well.

I honestly don’t know what I need to pick up the task again, and see it to the end this time. I only know it needs to be done, and my own growth and career path depend on it. Like many writers, I’m plagued with self-doubt every step of the way, and the highly personal, emotional nature of the project doesn’t make that self-doubt any less overwhelming.

Also like many writers, I have chosen a solitary career path because it’s what I need to not only heal my heart, but allow it to grow. Each of them learned what I’m still learning. Before there are publishers, editors, and  a fan base, you have to commit to yourself. You have to set and meet your own goals; something I’ve failed more than I’ve succeeded.

Focus on The Successes

There are some successes which assure me they’re possible. Else I’d have tossed the memoir in the trash, and gone back to working as an accountant in someone else’s office, where my soul would finish being sucked dry, leaving nothing left when I finally reached the end of my days.

Thankfully, a few successes, a lot of encouragement, and the example set by so many who’ve come before me keeps e pressing forward, writing, editing, and setting new goals. Sometimes, I have to lower the bar a little so discouragement doesn’t derail me again. Sometimes, I get to raise the bar when I’ve met or beaten previous goals. It isn’t a straight line any more than life itself follows a direct path from birth to death.

There are side trips and meanderings along the way without which the discoveries which surprise and delight me would never happen. Even the side trips which have ended in pain or disillusionment had a purpose, and looking back, I wouldn’t have changed them. Like the difficult relationship I had with my mom, there are gems buried in the dirt and grime of those experiences. Those gems, too have helped me learn and grow so I can become the woman I dream of being.

The challenges I’ve faced; some of which I’ve merely survived, and others which led me to thrive are what have strengthened and honed me. They’ve given me the tools I need to continue to meet new challenges, learn new lessons, and forge paths through my own jungles and wastelands. Even the pain was necessary, though I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time!

A Project Needing Closure

Finishing my memoir and moving on depends on the lessons I took to heart after being kicked around by life, and a few of its human components. I’m constantly reminded my words and experiences need to be shared with the next person who feels like they can’t get up one more time; that the pit they’re in this time is the last one. Everyone needs encouragement, and it’s heard best from someone who’s been in a similar pit, and managed to climb out and use the lessons while releasing the pain.

When I was deep in my own abyss, I needed to connect with people who’d been there too, and who I could look at and see scars, but also a good, healthy life. It’s time for me to pay it forward, and truly thank those who helped me, though many will never know how much. Like me, they didn’t do it for the accolades. They did it because it was part of their own healing process, and because giving back is how each person contributes to the overall healing of Humanity. The currency used may differ, as does the amount of the contribution.

As they say in many fundraisers, no amount is too small. Writing is my currency of choice.

 

About the Author

Sheri Conaway is a Holistic Ghostwriter, and an advocate for cats and mental health. Sheri believes in the Laws of Attraction, but only if you are a participant rather than just an observer. Her mission is to Make Vulnerable Beautiful and help entrepreneurs touch the souls of their readers and clients so they can increase their impact and their income.

If you’d like to have her write for you, please visit her Hire Me page for more information. You can also find her on Facebook Sheri Levenstein-Conaway Author.

Be sure to watch this space for news of the upcoming releases of ” Rebuilding After Suicide” and “Sasha’s Journey”.