I can't find my words today but that's OK

A short reflection about secrets, stories and voices

A candid shot of the author and her husband. Image: Gemma Dix

Dear Creative Soul,

I don’t know where my words have gone today. I do know that I have sat at my desk at least twenty times and stared blankly at the screen. It is my day off, my writing day. But the words … where are the words?

I wander into my writing space. Sunlight filters through gaps in the vertical blinds that are being replaced next week. The room smells of caramel and vanilla; if I close my eyes, I can almost taste a soft caramel fudge melting on my tongue. I sink into the chair, fingers poised over the keyboard.

What I thought I wanted to write - what I intended to share - did not emerge. I typed a few words. Deleted them. Walked away. Repeated the process after coffee with my husband.

I open my work in progress, the story of a young girl who is lost, then found. This same girl is given a voice on a stage, but a heavily scripted one. When that voice is taken away, she wonders who she is. I have written 50,000 words of the first draft so far, but I have not worked on this story for six months. I read a chapter, then another. Something stirs inside me, the thought that this story deserves to be told, this character deserves her voice.

I can’t find my voice today. To be honest, I’ve felt this way all week. Like I’m stuck between what I want to say and what I can’t say. This is mostly a day job problem - after 12 years in a marketing role, I’ve been seconded to an events role within the same organisation. An exciting opportunity, yes … but, while I’ve known about it for weeks, I haven’t been able to share the news until the green light was given.

Photo by I.am_nah on Unsplash

Her name is Sara Slightly. I reach for her, but the distance between us feels too great and I feel her shrinking away, back inside the hollow tree where she sheltered until she was found. Outside, the sky is a never-ending blue, the midday light penetrating; it has been the hottest February recorded in Perth, and I wonder if we will go to the beach tonight.

Keeping news like this from a valued colleague has been increasingly difficult. This past week I’ve struggled with mounting frustration and a sense of inauthenticity. Not only did I feel squashed by the weight of this knowledge, this chasm of “I know something you don’t know”, but I felt a dissonance in what I wanted to feel (excited) and what I felt (guilty). And in the person I am (open) to the person I had to be (secretive).

It is 6AM and I am reading comments on my last Substack article. It occurs to me that I am finding a voice I like in this space. An authentic voice - vulnerable, inspiring, curious, encouraging. And then I realise this IS my voice. It wasn’t lost, it didn’t need to be found - it was always there. It just needed to feel safe. In this space, I feel like I am the real me - imperfect, evolving, the protagonist and author of my own story. This excites me and I want to write more, to share more. But I am stuck, writing in the gaps of life, and it is time to get ready for work.

The green light came. My colleague and I talked yesterday. She had guessed something was up and her feelings spilled out: fear, confusion, frustration at being kept in the dark. We talked, hugged. It was an emotional conversation, filled with respect and empathy. I didn’t have all the answers to her questions, but I felt like myself again. Being able to use my voice, to speak my truth, lifted a weight from me. And finally, wonderfully, I felt excited about this opportunity.

Summer afternoon sounds filter through the window - an uneven melody of children playing in a pool, a dog barking, my husband watering a wilting garden. I pull apart the blinds; they clank against the glass. Three metres from where I sit there is an intricate spiderweb taller than me, its architect a large orb-weaver we don’t have the heart to disturb. She reminds me of the fictional Charlotte who used her voice to save Wilbur the pig and I think that this Charlotte-spider’s web says loudly and clearly, “I am here.”

I thought my words would come easily today. They didn’t.

I thought by now I would be back in my routine of writing Friday “five things” posies. I’m not.

I usually feel bad about things like this - like I haven’t measured up, like I’ve let readers and subscribers down. I don’t. And I haven’t.

I thought I would be able to speak my truth today … I have.

PS. BOOK NEWS Last week a beautiful anthology was released, with profits raising funds for the Indigenous Literacy Foundation. I'm delighted to have a creative non-fiction piece - "Feeling My Way" - in a collection of 41 stories from Southern Key Press called THE HEART WILL FIND A WAY. Check it out - the stories will move you, encourage you and make you cry quite a lot. And there’s nothing wrong with a good cathartic cry, right? If you want to help raise money for a good cause, I encourage you to check this book out. You'll find memoir pieces, creative non-fiction, fiction, and more.

(More info in the comments.)

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For those still reading, here’s a poem I wrote a year ago. It speaks a little to what I wanted to write about today.

Poem: If You Look Hard Enough

I watched Love Actually

at Christmas

and I cried

when Karen cried

listening to the

Joni Mitchell CD 

she thought was a necklace

from her husband.

And later,

when I read a news headline,

I thought, if 

love really is all around

(if you look hard enough)

why 

is one woman

killed

every eleven minutes

worldwide

by a current or former partner?

And I despaired

thinking of what humans do

in the name of love that

(if you look hard enough)

are not about

love, 

actually.

© Monique Mulligan, 2023