Guided Writing Sessions

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Sheltering At Home

There’s Nothing Left to Do but Write

May 22, 2020

I have all the time in the world, and there’s nothing left to do but write. I think if I put on the page all the truth and stories I tell myself it will be healing. First, I want to acknowledge that during the quarantine, I have overcome the tyranny of polishing my nails. For over forty-five years every week, I would take an hour to prepare and to polish my nails. It is quite a process first to remove the old polish, soak fingers in water to soften and clip the cuticles, then buff each nail to a high gloss. Then it is time to apply the products; one begins with a nail strengthener, then a base coat, and finally a colored polish. I like OPI Big Apple Red, it is a true red, no orange tint, it is beautiful but a devil to maintain, one must always worry about chips and then to take it off it looks as if you have sliced your fingers with a sharp knife.

Now that I have been sheltering at home for 63 days, I cut my nails short, keep them clean by washing my hand incessantly (as indicated in the virus health guidelines), and moisturizing my hands after each wash. No more beautiful red nails, but ease and appreciation of how beautiful my hands are simply clean.

I wonder what else I have stopped doing? Well, haircuts are not available as salons are closed; it’s a good thing my hair color is delivered every other month as I don’t care how long my hair is, but I simply will not put up with the grey.

I remain constant in making my bed daily and getting dressed before I leave the bedroom. Some people are comfortable sitting in the pajamas or robes all day. I need to put on armor to enter the kitchen. I never feel cozy when I am naked except when I sleep. Since retirement, more than ten years ago, my clothing has changed to a casual kind of dressing. I wear blue jeans now (and pink ones too) when most of my life I did not wear pants at all because I was so ashamed of my body.

This is my primary wound; for some people, its pride, for others, its money, for me, it’s body shame. Only now can I accept everyone has a primary wound, some grow out of it, some manage it, I had to wait forty-three years to accept my body as it is and put on a comfortable pair of jeans with a magenta-colored turtle-neck shirt.

Now I want to write about him. The story has been roiling inside my mind for so many years it’s finally time to put it on paper and free up the ever-revolving cast of character and plot lines that have provided comfort to this lonely person since she was six-years-old

DevonB has reacted to this post.
DevonB

I enjoyed your piece, so much, Madeline, from your wry noting of some physical rituals that you are letting go of, to your affirmation to give written expression to the part of you that dreams.  I suspect that most of us share in having issues with our bodies, at least I found that that as one of my connections to your piece.  I also really appreciated you feistiness in declaring which physical rituals, like hair color, are your bottom line.  I know from our conversations that your are using some of your freed up time for more meditation and writing.  Your practice is reflected here, in the directness of your writing.  Bravo!  Keep posting.

Thanks for this, Madeline.  Isn't it liberating to drop the image-saving rituals (hello, cuticles!) and relax into the comfort of simply being ourselves?  It's interesting that you refer to clothes as "armor" even in the privacy of your home; you might try doing some writing or meditation on nakedness, and the discomfort of being in the buff.  It's not so much about being unclothed; it's nakedness as metaphor, exposure of the body as a parallel to emotional exposure; and the stories (and feelings) that come up for you when you're not suited-up and ready for your close-up. : )  What do you see?  How can you love what you see exactly as it is?  These are useful questions for all of us.

I hope you're staying healthy and well!  I look forward to speaking to you on Sunday's call.  Till then, all my best, as always,

Mark 

Dear Madelaine,

I loved the everydayness of your story. As I read your piece, I felt enraptured by the intimacy of the small daily rituals with which we build our lives and through which we communicate with our inner self and with the outside world. It made me think about how what I choose to use to communicate with others is also part of me. Thank you for sharing!

Maite

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