In 2016, I wrote a 60-page creative nonfiction and poetry honors thesis as my crowing achievement of my undergraduate career. Not only did it serve as a milestone in my creative life, but it was (metaphorically) a love letter to myself and my whole life. When I reflect on my time writing it, it was pure growth. Technically the thesis only needed to be 30 pages long, but I wrote double that because I could not stop myself from writing that semester. Words exploded out of me. Imagine me trying to fall asleep but flailing my hand around to find a pen and notebook, and then scribbling nearly incoherent bits of poems into it late into the night.
At the very end of the semester I had to read a portion of the piece to the entire English department (faculty and students) and then respond to questions from the audience. This was absolutely terrifying for me, as someone who hates public speaking and is an internal processor. Responding to questions on the fly is my personal nightmare. But! I geared up and charged onto the battlefield and emerged not only unscathed but radiant and proud. I answered every question flawlessly (and my thesis advisor agreed with me!). I spoke clearly and authentically about my thesis without losing my train of thought or missing the point of the question. This was a miracle and one of my proudest achievements.
Then, as I was walking out of this momentous night with someone very special to me, I could tell that something was wrong. They were upset, and I knew it had to do with my thesis. After asking them some questions, they explained how they were really hurt and disappointed by what I wrote in my thesis. They thought that I shouldn’t have written about some of the life events I mentioned. They said they didn’t know how they could support me as a writer.
To describe my reaction as “devastated” would be the cute way of interpreting the feelings I had after hearing those words.
This person was so important to me at the time that I began to question everything I had just done. This person may not have verbalized it as follows, but I quickly internalized: “I shouldn’t have written this” and “I shouldn’t write at all if it’s just going to hurt the people closest to me.” Unfortunately, my mental response to their words was born out of a place of pain, betrayal, and self-abandonment—I didn’t write a single word for over a year.
I get emotional thinking about it now because I can recognize that horrible conversation and its consequences for what they were/are: sabotage. Sabotage of my calling as a poet, but also, more importantly, who I am.
Unfortunately, my mental response to their words was born out of a place of pain, betrayal, and self-abandonment—I didn’t write a single word for over a year.
To think that any creative work I produce is anything but sacred, important, and necessary would be a boldfaced lie. My writing (and I would argue ALL writing) is the epitome of purity in its representation of my heart as its creator (not to mention the heart of our Creator).
Gratefully, I now look with cautious optimism at my future in poetry, having taken steps to heal my heart and stabilize my pen. I tell you this story as a reminder that you are allowed to disregard someone’s manipulative and hurtful words, even if they are the person you care about the most.
To think that any creative work I produce is anything but sacred, important, and necessary would be a boldfaced lie.
I also encourage you to never, ever, EVER give up your art, your creations, your dreams for anyone. It’s so easy to be manipulated into believing that who you are isn’t meant to exist or what you create is harming the world. The truth is that you enhance this world. Your art (whatever that may look like) adds indescribable value and will help someone. Maybe it helps a stranger or a loved one. Maybe it helps yourself. Either is entirely valid and worthwhile. Also, may I just say: you deserve people who encourage you to pursue yourself, whatever that looks like.
Your art (whatever that may look like) adds indescribable value and will help someone. Maybe it helps a stranger or a loved one. Maybe it helps yourself. Either is entirely valid and worthwhile.
If you’ve ever been hurt by words similar to the ones I’ve heard, imagine me giving you the biggest virtual hug right now. You didn’t deserve that. Please keep writing. Painting. Creating. Dreaming. Loving. Your work is beautiful, and so are you.
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(P.S. There are other things this "important" person said about my choice to write about some traumatic situations in my life and how I must not be “over” the trauma if I’m still writing about it. I might make a separate post discussing that idea at some point!)