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.
I spent so much time suppressing my real feelings
in the past that both facing my fears and allowing myself to acknowledge my real feelings seem to be key to my healing.
