“There is a charge for the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge for the hearing of my heart it really goes. There is a charge, a very large charge, for a word, or a touch, or a piece of my hair or my clothes” – Sylvia Plath.
I began writing again when I was 20, I’d stopped in my teens. You see, I bumped into a friend and in my ebullient, elaborate way was clutching a copy of Ariel and swooning over Lady Lazarus. It meant so much to me you see. Do you recall the moment when you realised someone else knew exactly, but exactly what you are feeling, and that you are not alone? I was swept up in that. Yes, with Plath, I know, I’d never claimed robust mental health back then.
I skipped along, rapturing and repeating, dizzying in the lines, the rhymes. I came across Tom, literally walked into his bulk as my nose was in the poetry.
I poured out my passionate heart and he laughed at me, good naturedly and made some quip about 6th form girls, dressed in black, in love with Sylvia Plath and writing bad poetry. I was a walking, skipping, reciting cliche. So I stopped. It took years and The Artists Way to start again, to realise the words that rattle around my head, tear me from my work and keep my up, fingers aching, writing on.
But the truth is, I have no time for cynicism, every moment is momentous.
I write because I need to let the words out or they don’t let me sleep. I write because I have stories to tell and because there are stories waiting to be told. I write because I am in love with stories and the bard is a sacred role, I see the world in stories and people’s memories.
It takes something from me to tell these tales. It frees something too. But there is a reason you have to pay for my memories:
W charge for sharing our truth, and why not? Confidences are shared, are exchanged. Our stories are precious and not something to be thrown out lightly into the lap of every stranger who asks.
So often we struggle with what to say.
I am asked nearly every time I leave the house:
What’s wrong with you?
You don’t look sick.
Were you born like this?
How many times have you been asked these questions and fumbled for an answer? Maybe your response revealed more than you wanted to. Or maybe you just opened your mouth and nothing came out as you looked on, stunned that someone could be so rude.
I know these questions all to well. As someone living with a health challenge (as I do), it’s inevitable that you will be asked about your health from strangers, acquaintances, and loved ones.
Your story is precious to you. It is a part of yourself and your life. Not sharing it doesn’t mean you are ashamed. Things can be painful to talk about and we want to make sure we are sharing them with people who will honour and respect them.
It Doesn’t Have to be This Way
What if I told you that you could craft a response to their probing questions that would free you from being defined by your illness or disability? What if your answer could be a micro- revolution, an education, and an elevation all in one?
Inspired by Dyana Valentine’s Pitch Perfect program, my new eBook, Pitch Perfect: What’s Wrong With You? will help you answer the uncomfortable questions about your disability in a way that makes you feel confident and empowered. It will enable you to shift these conversations to what makes you the
- multi-faceted person you are
And NOT to an uncomfortable conversation that focuses on your disabilities or illness.
Change the conversation and learn to speak your truth with confidence by getting your copy of Pitch Perfect: What’s Wrong With You? today for £10/$16US.
P.S Don’t forget to sign up for Trail Blazers’ Conference October: 30 Day guided wellness program, radical healing practices & fundraising to save a life. Sound good? Join us http://ow.ly/epGfQ #TrailBlazer