Holding My Words

“I don’t know what I think until I write it down.” Joan Didion

 

Tonight I get to write in a quiet house. I can’t remember the last time this occurred. There are seven of us living in this house, ranging in age from six to eighty-five. There are days there are so many words coming from each corner of this ninety-year-old brick home I can’t hear the thoughts in my own head. The house is constantly humming with the words of political pundits, sitcom stars, audiobook narrators, singer/songwriters, Barbie doll dialogue, and knock-knock jokes. But tonight everyone is either at work or asleep, so it is the sound of the keyboard and the wind blowing through the trees outside my backdoor that keep me company as I try to find my own words. Out of the corner of my eye I see fireflies hovering nearby. It smells like the clouds are holding rain but it is too dark to see if they really are. My to-do list is trying to call to me, but I know that nights like this are rare so I lean into the quiet.

The muse is mad at me. I know she visits those who make time to put word to paper, the ones who show up day in and day out. I haven’t been sitting in that chair with any regularity. Anne Lamott would have not one bit of pity for me. The muse used to come anyway, whispering to me while I washed dishes and sorted laundry, but the years of feeling bad for an overtired mom are over. She expects more from me now.

I’ve been keeping the words I do have pressed tight against me. They rarely feel the warmth of the sun and the months it’s been like this have been multiplying exponentially. It was July of 2012 the last time I felt this way. The hot summer weather was an incubator for all the thoughts and words churning inside and they all exploded into what became the beginning of public writing. For years I shared my thoughts and feelings in my own little corner of the internet. It all felt so anonymous and I was unencumbered by expectations or worries about who would be reading it. I could reveal anything I wanted without a second thought. 

But now I am acutely aware of the weight words carry and I keep my words inside and don’t let them out. Politics is consumed in 140 characters. Complex issues are disguised as a soundbite and I am convinced we are losing our ability to think critically. We absorb the quick and easy read all the while dissecting, analyzing, and ultimately criticizing the long form. I think of stopping altogether until I see a quote a friend shared. “I don’t know what I think until I write it down.” And suddenly, I remember. I remember why I found my way to my computer night after night. I remember why I would steal pockets of time as I drank lukewarm coffee and cold toast. I remember why I need to let the words out.

It’s darker outside. The clouds did indeed hold rain and I listen to it pour in-between cracks of thunder. The sky lights up from the lightning that flickers behind the trees. Just like the clouds had to release the rain, maybe just maybe, I need to release my words again.

Brenna D'Ambrosio

Brenna D'Ambrosio

I believe in finding and celebrating the breath of God in the every day, and that sometimes a gentle, simple group of words is the best way to reflect the complex and bold beauty of the world. I believe in the fierce. I believe in a generation of girls and women finding their voice. A generation who are the heroes of their own story, who fight their own battles, and slay their own dragons.
Brenna D'Ambrosio

Latest posts by Brenna D'Ambrosio (see all)

  • Oh friend. This is stunning and I relate to every word. The muse is angry with me too and I miss those feelings of seeing what I think become clear, of chaos becoming form, and confusion becoming substance. If only for you, write. But also for us. I miss your words, too.

  • I’m so glad you’re feeling the pull to write more. I’m with you–I have the ideas and seedlings of words and then life gets in the way. The angry muse is the perfect way to describe it!

  • Yep… Over here, writing in the midst of endless knock-knock jokes. (Or, as my brother calls them, the “anti-joke” since they never make sense!) Glad you are finding pockets here and there…

  • So glad you’re giving ink to the words.

  • Cathy Heise Ellison

    This is me too! I am so encouraged to hear the beginnings of visiting that space, that chair and considering releasing some of the words. I am also feeling the weight and responsibility of trying to release words knowing that the atmosphere with which they are received may not match my heart…and then the work of not being afraid, not defending, but yet being willing to get more and more clear…and so much more. Thank you!!