“write from a scar, not an open wound”

Puja and I started an online class this week. It is The Wisdom of Story with Glennon Doyle Melton & Brené Brown. I am a devoted member of the cult of Brené Brown. I found her Ted Talks at one of the darkest moments of my life last winter and she helped me open my heart again and work through the pain. I bought Glennon Doyle Melton‘s book Love Warrior as soon as it came out and I wish I could tell you I finished it, but I have not even started.

The first lesson from The Wisdom of Story was two fold. First, identifying the “bru-tiful” (brutal + beautiful) adventure that you are on. Next, understanding the “rules of the world” – the expectations and messages that fuel shame and are often the source of conflicts in our stories. Just putting pen to paper (keys to the board?) on these two topics brought me to tears. What is it that I am not ready for? I am already living it, so now what?

It resonated with me to hear Glennon say “write from a scar, not an open wound” and Brené say “share from your heart, not your hurt.” I am trying to keep up my writing and my growth and my creativity, but I feel stuck. I’ve been keeping a journal, albeit very infrequently. I am not ready to talk about it yet. Not here. I do not know when I will be. Or how long until this wound heals. But I will say this – I have lost my best friend before and I thought I would not survive. Maybe I didn’t want to survive that, but I did. And I think she would be proud. I lost my best friend again this year. It never stops hurting. All of those moments when you want to share that inside joke but you can’t. All of those times when you want to share your good news but you can’t. All of those times when you’d just rather not be alone, but you are. Those are the times that prevail and they suck.

I want to post, but the words won’t come. They are stuck inside my fingers, hovering over the keyboard. It breaks my heart when people ask me “are you still doing comedy?” and I can’t say yes. And worse, I can’t say why other than to blame my son. How could it possibly be his fault? I don’t know how long the healing takes, but I also don’t want to break the new skin that is forming over the jagged wound. I don’t want to be this way forever. Temporarily, fine, but this isn’t my life. Please be patient with me. Once I get my life back, I’ll be back. I promise. And the comedy will be wickedly dark and poignant.

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