Shhh….can you hear that?
Nope. Neither can I. It’s silent around here. Deathly silent. It’s been so silent, in fact, that I’ve managed to fall away inside myself so entirely that I’ve seen little or nothing of my friends, family or anyone in between.
Life has been…noisy and when there is amplification in some areas there is an inevitability that I fall silent. I would love to tell you all about it, maybe one day I will, but for now I don’t quite have the words. I am exhausted. I’m battered and bruised and a complete emotional car crash. Through this recent experience one of the parts of me that has taken the hardest knock is my self-confidence, particularly in how I express myself through my writing. I’ve sat down countless times with my pen and notebook waiting for some observations or witticism to fumble tumble into verbal illustrations on my page. And what?…
Nothing. Nothing but a little voice saying “who the fuck do you think you are? Do you actually think anyone wants to read this?”. That’s Sable, my Saboteur. She’s a cunt. And she’s been the loudest voice around me for the past year or so. Somehow I’ve let my own voice become distant and meek. I’ve twisted, turned and danced to the beat of other people’s drums so much that I’ve forgotten to listen to my voice. The one who’s led me out of hot fires and pulled me back from the brink. She coaxed me out of illness and told me I was worth something, and never to let anyone tell me otherwise. She’s ferocious. She’s loyal. She’s a gun. And she’s lost. So now it’s time for me to coax her back out.
People say you should “write your truth” to convey the parts that make you characteristically you. The truth is light and darkness can’t exist in the light. The truth is enticing and it makes for a compelling story. That’s all lovely advice, but for me lately it’s been so very hard to pin down my truth, much less even begin to try to write about it.
That’s what happens when you lose your way or your confidence is knocked; your truth eludes. Your head is so packed with lies and noise that grasping for truth feels like trying to make snowballs out of smoke. When that happens, the capacity for complex insights or inquests is gone.
So it’s time to reconnect with the basics.
I love to write. That is my truth.
I can’t say how much you love to actually read my writing, but if you’ve made it this far down the page I suppose I can’t be going too far wrong. But the basic, bottom line and the reason I ever put pen to paper is that I have a deep and historic connection to the written word and my written expression.
My Mum and I, if we had one thing in common, it was our emotions. Rage would meet rage, fire meeting fire, the roof would blow off and windows shatter out…almost! Man, we knew how to fight. Fights of epic proportions. They were so painful; the hurt was thrown back and forth with the wounding, sniper-like skill that only only a Mother and Daughter possess. Our fights would (eventually) branch off, I would take my rage to my room and she hers to the living room. Hours could pass and I would receive a letter under my door. Words of pained explanation, encouragement and pleading poured onto a tear-soaked page. And I would reply; teenage confusions and indignation would precede an acceptance of guilt or love and eventually some middle ground could be found. We could express our thoughts and feelings without interruption and with undeniable clarity. We communicated across the great divide of our separate rooms and transcended generational assumptions to meet halfway and forgive. Or even better, to understand.
I’ve never had that same ability to communicate verbally, and what strength I may have once had was knocked after my acquired brain injury. I suffered the shattering experience of what I call “losing words”. I know they are there but they do not emerge from my mouth. At times I would start a sentence and by the time I made it to the end I had lost my train of thought entirely. Not just a concept gone, but the entire end of the sentence was no longer within my reach. It was an exhausting cycle of inspiration, disappointment, shame and anger. Likely this was mostly imperceptible to those around me, but the experience was completely shattering to me. Naturally then, writing took on an even more significant role in my self-expression. I found beautiful outlets in the world of advertising copy-writing or creative marketing executions that allowed me to knit my professional and personal lives together. How freeing!
I’m getting my voice back, she will emerge again. It’s just a little tentative right now. But even taking the time to sit and connect with this tiny glimmer of my truth has been amazing, so I’m hopeful that there is lots more to come.
Thank you, as always, for your time and eyeballs. I love you madly.
Tamara is the self-proclaimed Unqualified Blogger. She is a freelance Copywriter and Marketing Communications / Brand Strategist and Creative Generalist. She is available for speech writing, tattoo conventions and karaoke parties or would love to work with you on your latest marketing or creative challenges. Stay in touch on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn or Twitter or Contact her directly.