When I signed up for the Liz Gilbert/Suleika Jaouad writing seminar, I had a picture in my head of women in yoga clothes, chatting somewhat self-consciously while clutching their notebooks. I was just hoping to find a reason to write again.
I hoped for a transformation where my self-doubt gremlins would no longer keep me silent. I hoped for a new and improved Terri who could march purposely forward with well-crafted sentences building a small book that would set the publishing world on fire. I didn’t get that exactly.
It turned out that it wasn’t a writing seminar. Suleika could not attend, so Liz went rogue. It was an exploration of love in all its forms and all its power. Love is ethereal, but it can also kick your ass.
Liz’s exercises, done with a stranger, peeled back the years of love lessons I had learned. My earliest memory at 4 years old was thinking, “This isn’t right”, as I watched my mom and dad scream and threaten each other (my father’s threats were sometimes punctuated by gesturing with a handgun–again, not right!). My introduction to love was linked to fear.
Liz’s first exercise was a two-minute depiction of our inner soul, drawn with our eyes closed and our pen held in our non-dominant hand. The result is the picture you see above (adorable, right?). Once we saw what we drew, we were invited to name her – meet Smooshie.
When I look at her, I feel such sadness for everything she’s endured. First for my parents' lack of support (I remember my exasperated mother, once saying to me, “Why do you have so many FEELINGS?“). And then years spent braced against the demands of my Inner Viking, who pushed her relentlessly in search of safety. Safety in being the “good girl” at the top of my class, while on the side I pursued romantic love with a cringe-worthy zeal. Love that turned out to be not so safe until I made some rules to protect my heart–and then, like magic, I met my husband! Now that I am awash in love from my kids, my grandkids, and said husband, it’s time to turn the love inward.
My “takeaway” from the weekend was that Smooshie deserves better from me. Somewhere in the copious amount of tears shed in that room (there were 2 women whose full-time job was passing out tissues), I realized that writing my next book won’t be about adding something great to the world of books. It will be a stripping away of anything less essential than honoring my commitment to loving the core of me. Because Smooshie is not just my inner soul, she is my muse. So, I guess in the final reckoning, it was the best writing class I’ve ever taken–thanks, Liz!
XO
Terri
