Hope over fear, connection over sinking
Hope over fear, connection over sinking
Masters applications, the bravery in asking, and why taking action is so hopeful
Hi all,
I suspect many of you have gone back to work today, that will be me tomorrow, seriously regretting the generosity with which I used the phrase 'let's look at that in January' only a few weeks ago.
This month I'm focusing on my Masters application, so I'm lightening the writing load on the newsletter in order to focus on getting that underway. This week I started on my personal statement, having a big ponder on just why I want to do a Creative Writing masters, and how I articulate that in 500 words. After what feels like months and months of tinkering, it feels both electrifying and bloody terrifying to be going in pursuit of something more, and a clearer path to it.
This week I'm sharing some writing from the vault, about being in a cycle of not coping. It's one of the best things I've got written pre-packaged to go, so excuse the defeatist tone, something I am less keen in indulging in with my writing now, for fear of it compounding a feeling of misery.
It's a horrible place, feeling trapped in functioning outwardly and sinking lower inwardly. It's liberating to accept that none of us are super human, that there is always space somewhere to ask for help. Sometimes it's about creating the right environment to ask for it. While we beaver away, learning how to ask, making that safe place, I hope you gain something from reading this.
Take care as always,
Eden
Go easy
You took heed of the sage advice I offered up, half friend, half mother. I find myself morphing when I least want, into a font of wisdom pouring from an empty cup. It feels hollow, a cavern at the bottom, but water comes jutting out of my lips, a toilet flush never ceasing to bubble up more shit. They swallow, in reverence or politeness, I don't know. And I keep pouring as if I am a river that will never dry, because I cannot see the bottom; I will not feel the dirt although it cocoons me. My reach is deep and not to be desired, not to be explored, so we scoop scum from the surface and the cycle continues.
You convincingly close a door within my mind. I freeze up, mouth clagging as my body and brain disconnect. I can't work out if it is your silent pain or my discomfort of seeing a version of myself in you that turns that lock. In bringing out such uneasiness it, ironically, binds something up.
You are in a long chapter of being lost underwater and we are trying not to drown. I'm sure we will, again, only to be resuscitated at the eleventh hour. I thought we were past drowning, how naive. The true naivety is expecting that we would always float, crying when the current is not kind in winter.
Sometimes I just want drown in peace, away from your lead-laden body. See we cannot function as the magnet with the same pole, we repel. So I break into muscle memory that singes my tendons to make us click and then I am resentful. The anger that comes in waves is more for myself than for you. I am proud Atlas, determined to hold up the world, when even the world says 'let go’.
I am no better, for all my spouting and holy wisdoms. They feel unconvincing even to me now, their comforting effect crumbles at the slightest question. You play along out of care, I think. But I can't quite give it up, the morphing, the less than sage advice.
I confess my ugly emotions are ugly to write, but they have been honest for at least a flickering moment, which is more than me and you when we say 'go easy' as we say goodbye when really we scream 'there is no oxygen'.
Balm for the week
This week I've been racing through Hassan Akkad's Hope Not Fear, his account of his experience of the oppressive Syrian regime, and his journey to seeking asylum in the UK. Thank you Ellie V for gifting me the book for my birthday!
Hassan's story draws out two key messages for me:
As the name may suggest, hope trumps over fear, and it is human compassion and kindness in our most vulnerable moments that are our redemption. Love is infinitely stronger than fear.
Reading between the lines of Hassan's account, action is the antithesis of helplessness. I've also been slowly reading The Body Keeps Score, and psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk maps out similar conclusions. When something terrifying happens, and we're able to effectively fight or fly, our limbic brain is able to achieve what it's meant to do and keeps us safe. The trouble with trauma often starts when we're unable to take that action that will keep us safe because the situation is just too dire or inescapable. Hassan talks about this disillusionment when being caught protesting by the Syrian regime, but most importantly given the name of his book, the redemptive hope and reassurance he has found in taking action, and in helping others, since. I think it's testament to the lightness of his spirit that he was able to come to this conclusion of his own accord.
A call to action for us all.