Taking Back My Home: Leaving the Jabberwocky Face Down

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When I was in fourth grade, I was inspired by The Bailey School Kids series to write mysteries on index cards. But as soon as I hit double digits, the form of writing took on a new shape; the words created puzzle pieces that I desperately wanted to put together to understand the realities in life.  Years of therapeutic writing has helped me face how my innocence was taken away–an innocence that left through two family divorces and when those closest to me tragically left this world.  Writing about these negative situations enabled me to see my strength, so I could deal with and grow from them.

In college, I had the opportunity to explore with Therapeutic Uses of Writing courses, directed by Dr. Allan Hunter. Hunter saw therapeutic writing as self-exploration. He offered exercises that allowed us to process emotions. Some exercises rooted from different stages in our lives such as childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood. On more than one occasion we listened to Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll.  Next, we’d draw and write about our own Jabberwocky, a current struggle in our lives. It wasn’t until the third semester, the last part of this class, that the Jabberwocky represented a past struggle for me. I could no longer keep silent. It was unusual to lie to myself in my writing, but I had done it, dancing around the truth in journal entries and poetry.  Going around in class we described our monsters. I soothed my throat with water and announced, “I was molested by my ex-brother-in-law” for the first time.

For my written reflection on this exercise, I closed the shades in my mother’s basement, zippered myself in a hooded sweatshirt and kept a pool stick nearby for protection. I had to do this alone but felt as though I was wrong, even with a classroom full of support. Though therapeutic writing is beneficial for processing emotions, it can re-traumatize, which is what I experienced as I re-visited details in my piece:  “The turning of the doorknob is persistent and more upsetting to hear than anything else. The young naked girl in the mirror backs herself into a nook between the cabinet and towel rack.

Before I knew it, warm tears pushed their way up and out of my eyes. I needed to pause, bend my knees in the chair and self-rock.

“I don’t see it as an act of bravery in the moment but looking back, using judgment to lock myself in was the best thing I could’ve done for myself.”

 I did find a slice of peace knowing that when something bad was looming, intuition and self-care were present.

A few years later, I realized that my written reflection acted as a catalyst that strengthened my voice as I peeled back my trauma even more. I tricked myself into thinking that the bathroom scene was the most difficult layer of the truth, but it was the scene I hadn’t processed that was the most frightening: the beginning. So here I was, in the nook of a local library by the window challenging the damn Jabberwocky again, four years after college. Just as I did the first time I wrote about my Jabberwocky, I shut out the light. The irony of being in a nook, albeit a safe nook this time, did not go unnoticed.

I was not attached to a pool stick or hooded sweatshirt for protection. I only had my mind, my laptop and my iPod for support. Once Microsoft Word opened its blank document, I marched right back into my fear.  “Stop running. This is where I turn and get angry the most; the rawness I never want to type and see.” With ears under headphones, I couldn’t hear the pounding of fingers on the keyboard, but I felt the anger coming through them, leaving my body:

I am cross-legged on the couch. We are one seat width apart when his hand moves up my chest. Soon after that, his fingers wander where they shouldn’t.  Then there’s pressure–very uncomfortable pressure. When I was older I realized it is the same poking and pushing sensation that a woman feels when visiting her gynecologist. I’m sure I’m one of the very few who cry on the exam table when getting a pap smear.”

Each word pushed out in the open was a punch to my Jabberwocky, each paragraph another defeat that I felt less and less wrong about.

 “Sitting on the couch, I internally scream. He shouldn’t be the first person exploring my body, even before I’ve explored it!  My eyes never leave the screen, nor does the rest of my body move; my head remains straight ahead. The characters on Roseanne stand in the kitchen arguing.

I keep watching, though not really seeing.

I paused once and skimmed over what poured out of my body and onto the screen. Dr. Hunter taught us to pay attention to language in our writing because it can tell us how we are doing. For example, writing from a place of observation with questions can help problem solve and comes from a Conscious Voice. Words like should, ever, and judgmental phrases echo what he calls a Parent Voice, while “I don’t care,” wishes and desires echo a Child’s Voice. I noticed where the child in me showed her anger, and yet, writing the scene almost like a journalist did help compartmentalize from a distance, even if only moments after being in the fight with the Jabberwocky. As I finished skimming, I felt present, exhausted, and no longer like prey. I finally took back my home.

While writing has been medicine to transform fear into courage, writing the scenes does not erase them. Being a raw writer means carrying the feathers of truth and the weight of truth. Being a raw writer breaks the mold of what is right to write. 

 Your turn…

  What is your Jabberwocky?

References used:

  1. Hunter, Allan.  The Sanity Manual. New York. Nova Science Publishers, Inc., 2003

BellaBianca Lynn takes her Life List, including riding a Ferris wheel and chasing fireflies, very seriously! Her love for movement and learning follows her constantly–who says you can’t shimmy your shoulders and practice Italian while driving?  Lynn has taken many yoga teacher training courses and is 500-hour certified with a focus on Therapeutic Essentials. She has taught Yin Yoga as well as Yoga for Anxiety and Depression.  Her essays and poetry have appeared in the American Dance Therapy AssociationBelly Dance New England, Boston Seniority, and Eunoia Review. A recipient of the Poetry Award and Freshman Essay Contest from Curry College, she weaves her creative and non-fiction writing into the art of belly dance and yoga practice.  BellaB resides in Massachusetts.  For more of her work visit: https://bellabiancalynn.com/

Photos courtesy of BellaBianca Lynn.

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