My Declaration of Independence

This is a series of essays that have not appeared before on this blog. They were taken from my book, Surrendering to Joy, which I wrote in the year immediately following my daughter Teal’s death in 2012.

There came a time when I had to finally emerge, to release my mother, my story, my struggle and my suffering.

I had to release my grip on so-called reality.  I had to let go of the steely, inflexible view with which I have seen myself most of my life – a “reality” that was witheringly harsh.

It led me to angry, controlling lovers, compulsive behaviors, and smaller work in which I could hide for years and years.

In doing so, I crafted a reality that wasn’t actually real.

If I don’t let go of this, no business can be built, no writing can be truly shared, and no destiny can be lived. I cannot make the impact I was born to make. This place of illusion feels safe and comfortable. Yet it is also a place of stasis.

Here is what I’m learning about coming into my own in this, my fifty-fourth year.

It is safe to be seen and heard. I no longer have to hide in any way – spiritual, emotional, strategic or otherwise.

I no longer have to sequester myself in inappropriate work that is a cover for my greatness. And I don’t have to be a “success story” that’s really about scoring validation and avoiding the thing I was born to do.

Now I really know the truth: I was born to move people by writing and speaking from the heart.

So why would a perfectly decent writer and speaker hide from her much-loved crafts? Many reasons. As a child it was about protecting my mother from the sense that she, herself, was a failure by comparison.

Oh, how my mother struggled with her own anxiety and insecurity. Nothing was ever good enough. Ever. So many dreams got laid to dust, incomplete. She became a woman who lived solely for her children. And I, a sensitive child, didn’t want to forge ahead and surpass her.

It just didn’t seem like good form.

Then there was always the sheer terror of truly emerging. For what I know now is that this writing is only meant to exist in one form: fantastically honest and without a shred of pretense.

It doesn’t require particular effort. Nor does it need much more time and space. What it demands is simple courage.

I can no longer be the guarded, wary person I once was to do this work. I must be that essential self – what my former husband called my “little flower.” He knew it was in there, just as others have. But how frightened I have always been of this flower, this self, this Suzanne.

But, now, the flower is opening. The writing has begun. And it is unstoppable. And so I show up to feed this beautiful engine that has patiently waited for me all these years. The feeding of it is the feeding of me – a Me I can now proudly reclaim.

Three things happened in the past few days that confirm this transition has begun.

First, I woke up to find a bat flying around the room I’ve been sleeping in, Teal’s childhood bedroom. Where the bat came from is a mystery, but there it was, big and black and coming right at me.

According to a shamanic website, the bat is a harbinger of a new beginning and the release of the old, which is precisely what I’d determined this particular trip East would be for me. It marks a turning point, a shift in my grief as we near the one-year anniversary of Teal’s death.

Then last night I had a dream in which I was back at The New York Times, where I once worked in the marketing department. In the dream, I was trying to sneak into a meeting for the editorial writers. They said, “Suzanne, why aren’t you taking your seat here in the front? This is for you and your writing.”

I’d been discovered! How afraid I felt. I was so resistant to God’s very gift for me. I knew I had to get back to the marketing department, figuring they’d be looking for me! Yet here was the recognition I’d always craved but never sought to claim. Even when I actually worked at the Times.

Perhaps I wasn’t ready then. I had to live more, lose more, and surrender so much more. Instead of being more mighty, I had to become more undone. Only then could I finally claim that one precious pearl I had left, my own sweet soul.

That brings me to the third incident, a brief snippet of a dream in which a jaguar embraced me. As I wrapped my arms around its massive cat shoulders and nuzzled my face into its warm, golden neck, I heard its forceful purring. And I knew it loved me. As did the huge, aging, slightly beaten-up dog that joined us. This dog was my inner protector, just as the jaguar was my power. I knew I loved them both immeasurably.

So I step forth, gently and carefully, minding my way and feeding myself just what I need as I go.

This is the only way we can ever honor the God-self that we are. By listening, understanding, and providing ourselves with exactly what we need.

Today, I have awakened to this new, beautiful reality with Teal riding shotgun on my shoulder. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take, through pieces of my writing, scattered throughout the Universe like stars. Or slices of the very best chocolate cake.

What I know now is my soul is yours for the taking, for I am no longer afraid.

***

Reprinted from my book, Surrendering to Joy .

 

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