Monday, March 9, 2009

Writing Through It Part One

I've developed a really therapeutic writing routine. I wake early, at six. I gather an outfit for Molly and pack her bag, then bundle her still-sleepy self up in a blanket. She watches, blearily, as I make a pot of coffee. We snuggle on the couch until the grandies pick her up, and as soon as she's been handed over I scoot upstairs, all zombie-like. I pour a cup of coffee and sit at the dining room table by the window. It's dark and the sky lightens as I hunch over my pages. I scrawl on the backs of printed office paper I pulled from the recycling bin, then fold the three pages, date the outer fold, and place them in a thick red folder.

In the afternoons  I get that slump in energy that I learned you can mathematically predict (it's 12 hours from midway through your night's sleep. I sleep from eleven to six, and my energy flags at 2:30ish.) I remedy that by logging into Grace in Small Things and shoot off five things to celebrate. It's a sweet little boost. It's a shot of wheatgrass juice for the soul, but if wheatgrass tasted like apple juice.

I've centered and calmed and come home to myself through these routines. I'm cheered that I made the decision that taking The Artist's Way course would be a better use of time than psychotherapy. (Noting here that I'm not at all dismissing the help that the Celexa has been... although as a point of interest I learned from this article that only like 60% of depressives respond to seratonin reuptake inhibiting drugs. Lucky to be in the majority in this case.) The Morning Pages are therapy. I've had more (quantity + quality) insights in a few weeks of daily "streaming" than in a half-dozen bouts of therapy I've done in my life.

It also feels incredible to be writing physically, sensually on paper with pen. Since I started Daisybones I really don't journal anymore, and it's not the same experience to blog. Kathy nailed it in this post: "It's not journaling; it's performance art." It's empowering my decision to merge the blogs together. It'll entail moving the art posts here, and it might change my voice a little bit. It feels right, deep down and all the way through. I'm not starting the process yet but I have made some subtle "coming out" steps.

Part Two coming Thursday.
Thanks to Skepchick for the SSRI article link.


  1. The act of becoming one's true self, or peeling back the layers we've haphazardly covered ourselves in so that we obscured our true selves to everyone, including ourselves, well, the process of finding our true selves is a really fucking exciting one. Nothing is so remarkable, satisfying or gleeful.

  2. O' Clever Momtastic One, That is a jewel of a comment. I'm going to print it and put it in my sketchbook. Thank you:) *GIANT HUGS*