Firefly Healing, LLC

Why I Write

“The Rosebud Garden of Girls” Julia Margaret Cameron, 1868. (Public Domain)

I wrote poems throughout my life, since the age of 7, but I threw them all away a few years ago. I had carried my peeling, pearly-white-with-gold-flecks binder of handwritten, typewritten, and re-written poetry through 6 moves in 3 states. But the place where they last lived was the place where a lot of me died. I gave away all of my jewelry, even favorite keepsakes. I gave away my little-girl collections—the glass unicorns, the wooden and ceramic boxes, the porcelain angels—because it was not safe there. It was a kind of power to cut away anything that mattered, before someone else did. I buried my dreams and it felt like a mercy killing. It felt like a sacrifice to God. It felt clean.

And then eventually, my grief could not be contained. It opened up one January night like a wellspring and transmuted the threatening bitterness into the words of Another Season. If I could not garden like I wanted to, at least I could write. And now, those buried dreams are sprouting.

I write to discover the voice that almost fell silent. I write to express political, artistic, and spiritual ideas. Writing makes tangible the life that runs through me, bathing and filling the empty spaces, spilling out to reach others…

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