Unlearning well worn projections

"Because I was there to let it happen."

"How can you crash something that has no substance. You can only pass through. I’m pretty sure." - published in Carte Blanche, 2016, excerpt from American Mary

A post from 2016 (can you believe that was seven years ago) showed up in my memories today. It was a post announcing a newly published piece, an excerpt from my first novel, American Mary. I remember being honored to have a serious journal showcase some of my work. For a moment I was proud to show off this deserved badge of distinction to whoever happened to see the post in their Facebook feed.

Seeing the post today stung a little. Compared to the output I was churning out seven years ago, my productivity is way down. I haven't writing the way that I used to, and trying to get published has not been a top priority. But I also saw the memory as proof that I was at some point not too long ago eager, ambitious, and creative.

2016 was perhaps my last good year in terms of feeling very confident in what I was doing in the literary world. It was my world. I belonged and I knew it. Some people knew my name. I went to readings all the time and didn’t feel awkward. I was an it girl, if only in my own mind. It was the end of an era. I’ve written about this in another recent post, but I’ll say it again. 2017 was hard and things only got harder from there.

If you hear anything often enough you're eventually going to believe it. Unlearning the terrible things told to me that I heard over and over again, and trying to find some confidence within myself has been probably the hardest to learn. I still struggle with it. Trauma is a fuck. I had to do physical therapy on my soul, teach myself that I’m not a bad person, teach myself that I can trust myself, I can believe in myself.

Turning off that gut feeling, that’s a defense mechanism when you’re in the thick of hell. Feeling something wrong in your gut and listening to it is just going to cause more pain, ignoring it is going to help avoid conflict and further mistreatment. It became white noise. I had tuned it out for so long until I finally had enough.

The coincidence of having my friend from Canada visit me at this time and stay at my house for over a week kept me accountable and kept me away from my abuser. Like coming out of a drug binge, I was frazzled nerves and unsure of my willpower to stay away, but it turned out a week was the right amount of time to detox and break the cycle, to realize that I was better on my own. I didn’t think I could do it, and I’m so grateful to my friend for encouraging me and being there for me.

Once I got away and stayed away, it was easy to realize how wrong it all had been. What’s been much more slow-going and difficult is the actual process of reconditioning myself and forgiving myself. It took several years to work up the courage to examine in detail all of the darkness I was holding in, but writing about it really helped. It helped me move on.

I'm still working on rebuilding my confidence. I'm still trying. And I may not be writing as much as I was in 2016, but I don’t feel afraid anymore.

Read an excerpt from my first novel, American Mary, on Carte Blanche here.