I have been writing some pieces based on my experiences as a mother. Sometimes my experiences conflict with what I have been indoctrinated to believe about motherhood, conjuring feelings of embarrassment and shame. For me, it is nearly impossible to write in the midst of shame.
There is one piece in particular that I have been working on for weeks. I write and rewrite, but the process is always clumsy and stilted. The words that end up on the page are contrived and lifeless.
Today, I meditated before I started writing, I consciously tried to open myself up to Spirit, to the muse, to the Writing Gods, to any power that might help me in ways I was not able to help myself. Still, the words refused to flow. Then, from out of the blue, the still, small voice whispered, "Try writing in third person."
I closed my eyes. I could see myself as a young mother: so inexperienced, so naive. The crystallized images presented themselves like a full-color movie. I decided to record what I was seeing, only this time I wasn't the star of the movie. I was the observer: detached, objective. I put my pen to paper and didn't lift it for nearly an hour. When I was done, I knew that I had written the truth.
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