Last Sunday morning, if I had been a drinking woman, I would have drank myself silly. So I did the next-best thing: I got a bottle of sparkling grape juice from the cooler and sat around, writing, drawing, and drinking the whole bottle until it was gone.
About 2-1/2 weeks ago, I bought a new spiral-bound, hardcover blank-page book. Last week, I got out my old art stuff, went through it, threw out some of it,
gave some away, and placed my stuff in a hinged wooden box. And this book was what I wrote and drrew in all morning, until my husband came home from church and
took me out to dinner.
But through last weekend, I was enraged. Enraged about that church, enraged that I stayed there long after I knew it was sick, enraged that I brought my
children up there, damaging innocent people.
I also have been going through a "self-help" book, taking a look at what kept me in that church and at what I retain from it. Some of it isn't
easy to do. It digs deep wounds, exposing even deeper infectuous wounds. But I am pushing through it. Yesterday, I started a small collage in the book which
depicts the nuances that most irritate my memories. And I started a poem, finished today, that tells other irritations there.
And I wonder what you do to help yourself heal.







