When I Haven’t Had the Words, I Turn to Art
I’ve never sobbed as deeply as I have within the last ten months. The world I thought I knew crumbled around me. The pulling of a single thread unraveled three decades of trauma and abuse. I haven’t had the words. I have more questions than answers. Some days I stay in bed because the reality feels too heavy, not in my brain, but in my belly. No, deeper than my belly. Way down to my spleen.
For thirteen years my relationship with my mom was strained. Every day of those thirteen years, I woke up and remembered. Life before and life after. On the rare occasion that I’d allow myself to feel, grief tried to gnaw its way out.
We decided to leave the past in the past. My mom and I worked hard to rebuild our relationship and the trust that had been diminished.
This was my story. This was what I believed.
Until I didn’t.
The moment that cracked my reality happened in July. On a humid summer day, my mom and I sat on my back patio. She was recovering from surgery and I wanted her to experience care that comes from a place of love and not control. As we talked, my mom had the courage to utter a single sentence. Until now, she had felt too ashamed to say it aloud, even to herself.
Her courage presented me with a truth– knowledge I couldn’t unknow. This one truth reframed every memory around it. Conversations filled with heartbreak and confusion spiraled in my brain. This truth didn’t add information for me to file away. Instead, it added context to everything I thought I already knew.
He may say you won’t, but you will
What allowed this truth to be unveiled was time and space away from coercive control. As if emerging from a fog, distancing from an abuser allows us to see the horizon. When you’re no longer isolated from people and you feel safe, you begin to realize what you deserve. You start opening up, sharing stories, and feeling valued because people want your perspective.
A familiar catch phrase the men in my life have used to shut up women
Maybe you aren’t worthless.
How do you write something so horrific it sears your eyelids closed to see it. When I have had the words they come out in large, capital letters. Blue ink scrawled across multiple pages. If you run your fingers over the white paper with blue lines, you can feel the indentation from the pen tip. Imagine a tense hand from a tight grip, barely stopping to turn the page.
When I haven’t had the words, I turn to art. Sometimes I consume others’ art, taking it in through headphones, Pinterest scrolls, and reading nooks. Lately, I started creating my own, allowing me to express how I feel without violently taking pen to paper. Although, there’s a time for that, too.
I thought I’d start sharing and hopefully one day these will all come together to form the words I can’t yet say.
When your thoughts are too loud and you can’t find the words, create.
I’ve written other essays about realizations and revelations:
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