Maybe I’ve mentioned it before . . .

A friend and fellow writer once said that she can only write poetry when she’s depressed.

In the years that have passed since she said this, I’ve come to find this also tracks for me as well.

When the feelings are too heavy or nebulous to explain, they are better looked at askance through metaphor.

Which seems counterintuitive given the sparse precise language poetry demands.

Probably has more to do with exposure in small doses and vague allusions rather than facing fully frontally.

Our psyche has amazing ways of protecting us, preserving us from trauma if at all possible.

So what, then, does it mean when I don’t write at all?

Writing has always been a lifeline for me.

A way to understand and process, celebrate and create meaning and paths forward.

It makes perfect sense, then, that when I look back over the last several years, looking for patterns and hypotheses, I review my writing.

There were hints at what influenced certain pieces, what was going on at that point in time. Paired with memory, I was able to get a good picture of a period. Except when I couldn’t.

At certain points, there were gaps. Huge yawning abscesses where even poetry, apparently, was too much.

There is an adage that floats around religious circles that says, if you don’t have time to pray, pray more.

That applies to my writing practice as well.

If contemplative, reflective writing helps me to center and refocus, put things in perspective – why do I shun it when difficulties arise? It is at that exact moment that I need it the most.

While there were gaps in my writing repertoire over the last six years, I was able to make a pretty long list of the things with which I dealt during that time period. It’s been a wringer. Time to get back to writing – for real and well-being.