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Writer's pictureSilk-Jazmyne

Creation as Catharsis

Updated: Oct 4, 2020

I’m 32 years old and I’m writing a novel.

The first time I went to therapy, was in 2001 when my parents got divorced. I was a Navy brat at the time and I guess it was policy for me to see a counselor. I don’t exactly remember what the counselor said or asked. My memory says she was a white woman with red hair, but I’m not really sure.

The second time I went to therapy was in 2010 after a physician suggested that she could find no anatomical reasons for my pain so maybe it was stress. I signed up for a consultation that week. At first, I met with the practicing psychiatrist and his assessment decided who I’d be seeing. My counselor, she said she couldn’t call herself a therapist yet because she was still in grad school, was fair skinned with dark brown hair. As a people pleaser and self described empath, I hadn’t experienced anything as justifying as those sessions and often found myself crying in the office. The semester came to a close with my impeding graduation, she provided me resources for therapists in my home town should I decide to continue therapy.

I didn’t continue therapy. I became a full time nanny for my younger sister while my mother completed her B.S. in Nursing, I worked part time to cover my personal bills, and my entire existence was around other people. I experienced painful breakups, codependency and resentment.

In 2018, I began therapy again. In my first session, I told my therapist how I felt angry all the time. How it was like lava was in my chest on a daily basis. She started me off by continuing my connection of physical sensations with actual emotions. I could pinpoint the sensations in reaction to situations, but I often couldn’t label my emotions. Every session began with “How do you feel?” and if my response was “Fine,” or “Okay” she’d said “Those aren’t emotions.” What an epiphany to realize that the most basic of human expression was blocked in my life.

This is how my novel concept was born. Due to the work uncovering my subconscious feelings about my relationship with my mother, I knew I needed to get the words on the page to process. “The Vessel” began as a mere work in progress at the Kitchen Table The Getaway Writer’s Retreat in Winter 2018. I was so ecstatic to share my idea. My KT family gave me great feedback and advice, I wrote around ten pages plus some other micro fictions, and I was ready to start the new year creatively.

I did some editing in January 2019, felt great about the progression of this work in progress. As my sister Brielyn says, “Life Be Happening” I told myself I’d get to therapy in Feb 2019, but I didn’t. Gave myself grace and said, “No worries, I’ll go in March” but didn’t. This continued throughout the year. 2019 dished out trials, triumphs and more tears than I can count.

But January 2020, I began therapy again and tried to revive this work. I’d been knocking out short stories and microfictions, but The Vessel was always in the back of my mind. It wasn’t until July 2020, when provided by writing prompts from THE Tananarive Due, that I decided to go back to this project.

The first prompt was an exploration of a protagonists desires whether conscious or unconscious which made me wonder about my main character Califia as though she were an old friend I’d lost touch with. The prompts reignited the fire that had once burned for this narrative. So I started up again, daily writing. Even if just a few hundred words after a long day of work or research in the morning before remote work for my day job. Bless Kitchen Table. The Saturday after my VONA Workshop with Tananarive concluded, there was a writer’s check in. We shared work, spoke about how we’re resting and stated our goals for the month and rest of the year. In conversation, I called “The Vessel” my work in progress but my dear friend Sheree said I was writing a novel. That putting that title on it made it more concrete in my mind.

It stopped being this shapeless thing. The heart of my story revealed itself to me and it was so beautiful I literally teared up in front of my keyboard.

This novel is also a companion of my healing journey. This newest draft drips with all my vulnerabilities which I hate sharing, but I realized how my healing could help others heal and that’s what I hope The Vessel does.

My mantra before I write is, “I am a healer. Words of the tools of my trade. I am a healer. Words are medicine.”


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