A few days ago I ran into someone who read my book. She commented that it must have been therapeutic to write it. I laughed and replied, "Not really. I don't recommend writing a book as a way to heal."
She was taken aback and said, "Well, I am sure it helped you process stuff."
I laughed again and said, "Actually, it made me very sick to write the hard parts. Some of it I hadn't thought about since I experienced it the first time and that was enough for me. It wasn't a great thing to do and I didn't feel better for doing it."
She persisted, "But the fact you got sick while you were writing it means that you weren't done with processing it."
I was getting tired with my inability to explain myself clearly and her inability to understand me. I let us both off the hook. "Yeah, I'm sure you are right."
She smiled at my acknowledgement of the correctness of her assumption. She continued for a few more minutes to heap praise on the value of the book and the importance of it's message, so I walked away feeling positive about the whole exchange.
Except...
That was not the first time someone had commented that writing the book had to be healing. I dunno, maybe I should just handle the whole thing with more graciousness and class. Maybe I should just let people assume whatever they want about my motivations and rewards for writing the book. I probably will, since my previous attempts at explaining myself haven't gone so well.
Except...
I sense that there is an important lesson to be learned from this situation. The lesson could be just for me. Maybe the reason I haven't let the comment, "Writing your book must have been therapeutic for you," slide by is not because the commenter needs to understand, but maybe I do. After all, who cares what someone else thinks? What matters is what I think. This whole thing is silly because I am the first person to jump up and say that writing definitely helps me. When I am stressed or upset, my first inclination is to dash off a few lines. Heck, that is exactly what I doing right here, right now. Of course writing is therapeutic! I use it all the time. Duh.... everyone knows writing down stuff helps purge it from your mind. It is a standard tool used in formal therapy for a good reason.
Except.....maybe not always. Maybe there are superficial levels of pain that are resolved by writing. And then there is another deeper level, that requires much more than just writing to heal. I am going to try for the first time, to fully explain why writing didn't heal my childhood traumas, and what actually did.
As you remember from the book, I spent years carrying around serious anger at my foster parents, adoptive parents, and the foster care system. I tried conventional therapy to talk through my pain, but I couldn't afford the costs in terms of dollars and time. I read my fair share of self-help books, I approached the church, I talked to any girlfriend who would listen, I talked to my husband, I did all kinds of homegrown, poor people versions of conventional approaches to mental health healing. None of it really made a difference. I was still mad as hell and couldn't let it go.
Then I became the mother of three children whose health needs drove me to my knees in utter exhaustion. I sought out solutions from our doctors, who had none to offer. I was forced by my unwillingness to accept three miserable, chronically ill children, to look towards unconventional healing. I had to let go of my life-long fear of being considered odd, like the rest of my childhood family members, to do what I could to help my children. They needed assistance that was off the beaten path and I was the only one who could get it for them. I discovered a whole new world of underground healthcare, centered around excellent nutrition, the concepts that physical and emotional health are intrinsically tied together and that man has been healing himself for centuries without the benefits of prescription medication. Not that there isn't a place for prescription medication or modern medicine, but that it wasn't the end all, be all that I was raised to believe it was.
As I started the process of finding ways to heal my children, a funny thing happened. I started healing, too. The chronic acne that had plagued me for 15 years, cleared up. My ability to concentrate improved, my energy levels went up. My bowels became regular in ways I didn't know were possible. And most importantly, I lost my anger. As my outer physical symptoms improved, they mimicked the inner soul healing that was simultaneously happening. It was a graceful, gradual lifting of my emotional pain that I found mystifying and peaceful.
When it came time, years later, to write the book, I wasn't expecting to have a physical reaction to any of my past. I was done with it, healing had happened and it was over. My expectation was proven wrong. As I recalled long ago memories, I went from being fine to throwing up in the nearby trash can within minutes. I collapsed into my bed for a few days, unable to work at all while my body burned with a fever and sweated out its pain. I used all the healing arts at my disposal to support myself. I knew that I didn't have the flu. I didn't catch a bug from my children. I had total emotional clarity that my physical symptoms were directly tied to digging up the horrors of my childhood. When I was finally well again, I had a new, deeper level of inner peace that I hadn't experienced before.
So yes, in one way, my book fans are right. Writing was therapeutic. It brought old junk to the surface, giving me an opportunity to heal my wounds in whatever way I saw fit. Writing in and of itself - Not Healing. Writing being the catalyst for peeling off a previously unknown level of trauma so I could then do other things that healed me physically, emotionally and spiritually? Yes. Absolutely.
Interesting, isn't it? Who would have guessed? Not me.
Of course, I am telling you the short version of the process, and I can tell you in full confidence that my healing is not done, just as no one's is until they leave this life. As old trauma's heal, they are replaced by whatever the new drama of the moment is. The difference is I have skills for understanding and supporting my present day stresses that I didn't have in the past. And for that, I am grateful.
And look! After writing all this out, I do feel better. In fact, I would say it was therapeutic. Go figure.
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