Oops, I did it again

The iconic Britney Spears.

I wish that my ‘oops, I think I did it again’-ing was anything like Spears’ love song. I wish I had the balls to wear that hot red red one-piece suit! No, my oops-ing, as I’m learning, has to do with well…a coping mechanism I taught myself when I was a wee lass. I find myself repeatedly coming back to my 12-year-old self. Let me set the scene:

INT. BEDROOM – DAY

A young girl, with hair squirrel-brown, shoulder length, wears red cords, a New Kids on the Block t-shirt, and striped socks. Bunk beds fill half the room. They’re the kind of bunk beds with the top bunk one way, and the bottom bunk the other; a perpendicular deal. The bed sheets, pillow cases and comforters are the same – white with rainbow-coloured polka dots. There’s a plain wooden dresser painted white, white carpeting, a white blind on the one window, and a small desk and chair. On the walls are posters of the New Kids and Madonna. There is no bedroom door.

The girl’s favourite part of the bedroom is the closet. It’s large. Large enough for her go inside and settle in under the row of hanging clothing. It’s carpeted and quiet, and the girl loves to go into the closet, sit down and read. And write in her journal. There’s a light in the closet and it is bright enough to keep her pages lit.

She’s alone in the room at the moment, standing with her hands on her hips, chin jutted forward, head tilted.

GIRL
So, what are you gonna do now?

She breaks the fourth wall and looks right at me, right through me.

GIRL
What do you want to say?

She asks me hard questions.

GIRL
What is your story about?

She waits for me to answer, though she doesn’t have the patience to let me answer. And that’s fine because I don’t know the answers most of the time.

GIRL
What book are you reading?

This is one of my favourite questions. I can always answer this one. And sometimes, I’ll crawl in the closet with her and we’ll read together. It is comforting and very safe.

GIRL
What are you gonna do now?

It is this question that I realize I need to answer right now.

***

I’ve been having interactions with my 12-year-old self a lot this year. She showed up in maybe March…in the first quarter of this sabbatical. She was frustrated, sad and curious. She was pacing back and forth in the bedroom at that point, flailing her arms like she was grasping for answers, like they were stuck in the thin air but she couldn’t see them. She kept telling me to read, to write, to just do those two things because they are most important. Read and write, she told me. Like you used to do. Read for the pure pleasure of it, for the escape, for the connection. And write. Write for your soul, from your heart, don’t think, just write and let it all out because it’s how the safety comes.

I did that. And she was quiet. She was with me in the closet. We read together. We wrote together. We smiled in silence at each other. We were safe and connected.

But then…then she started asking me ‘what are you gonna do now?’ And so I started to do things that weren’t reading and writing. To venture out…to look around, to test my body in new or familiar places, in new or familiar situations. And I got that feeling…it’s an urge really, like a hunger growl, but deeper. Like a natural reaction or habit taking shape in my stomach, sort of rolling into a feel-able thing that pushes against my ribs and guts. It comes with a voice. And the voice…

Well, after months of learning and self-discovery, of therapy and listening…of pausing…I realize now that the voice is a Part. Capital P Part of me. She’s a Part of my 12-year-old self as well. Let me set her scene:

INT. APARTMENT – DINING ROOM – AND BEYOND

A seven-year-old little girl curls into the underbelly of a vintage sewing machine. The kind of sewing machine that folds into itself, with a large pedal like a grate underneath. Except, there is no machine in this one, but the grate is there and it’s a great hiding place for a little girl.

The little girl is very afraid, she covers her mouth to keep her self quiet. She listens. She watches. She makes a very important revelation: I do not want to be here, to do the things I’m seeing, to feel the things I’m feeling. When she feels safe, the little girl goes outside to play. Or she goes in the basement to play. Or she joins clubs and sports at school and stays after school. Or she goes to her friend’s house. Or she goes to her grandparent’s house. The little girl teaches herself to be busy.

The little girl likes to please the adults. She likes to do well, to show them that she is a good, smart little girl. To show them that everything is okay in her life. To pretend that everything is okay at home.

***

I realize that the choices I made when I was very, very little as a result of needing to feel safe and wanting approval built a Part of me who did things to stay busy so as not to go home, so as not to feel out of control, so as not to feel incapable of helping those she couldn’t help at home.

I created a natural instinct to take care of things, to gather in a safe place, to find family and friendship by choice. This is a powerful, kind, well-intentioned instinct. This instinct is inside a seven-year-old, inside a 12-year-old girl who told herself that she needed to create a place, a space, and groups of people that/who made her feel like she belonged.

Except that she never really felt like she belonged. She also had a Part who told her the jig would be up soon, they’d all find out that she was a fraud, that her home life was a disaster, that she was a needy baby who cried too much. That she had no value and wasn’t a good writer at all.

***

I’ve been using the language of ‘Parts’ for a long time, but I never really stopped to give them the attention of a writer. Which is what I am. I am a writer. I am a reader. I can say this with all the Parts in unison, proudly. I got really close to the Parts when I worked on my TedX speech about the Original Stories. I laugh out loud at myself now, at the absurdity of that time in my life, of that experience…I was describing my Parts, their origins, and yet, the Parts I needed to speak for me as a whole were on vacation. Well-timed vacation.

So here I am now. Forty-five, but also seven and twelve. And I’m facing the word and the feelings in Busy. I’m excavating Busy and realizing that sometimes being Busy is me taking cover, is me hiding in the sewing machine, is me hiding in the closet. If I’m busy, I’m not…well, I could NOT be doing a lot of things, like paying attention to my soul, like dealing with my anger and other Emotions I’ve Told Myself I’m Not Allowed to Feel ( now there’s a Part if I ever saw one!), like working on The One Writing Project that I know is part of my Purpose as a creator, a writer, a mother.

There is gold in being Busy. Busy does not have to be a bad word. But it’s important, for me, to pay attention to what Parts are motivating the busy-ness. And it’s important, for me, to learn how to do things as forty-five-year-old me – safe, strong, sensitive, intuitive, focused – a person of value with love to share, with a heart to receive love.

I can reach under the sewing machine and pick up little me, hold her, tell her she’s safe. I can bring her into the bedroom closet and me and my 12-year-old self can read to her.

I can answer the questions: what are gonna do now? With pause. With reflection. With awareness. With choices that are made with integrity. I can also say: Nothing. I’m going to do nothing. And that is perfectly acceptable. I can update (thank you, Erinn!) my little selves and remind them that I’m a grown-up who’s safe. And I can stop being afraid of being a grown-up like it’s some monster who’s gonna crush me. Nah. There are enough monsters in real life, I don’t have to make one a Part of me.

I can blast Britney’s ‘Oops, I did it again’ when I’ve caught myself doing it again – forgetting that I’m a Parts excavator. I can update my OG Parts and their very real, very natural-feeling stories, and edit them to my Here and Now. I can be Busy and not feel guilty about being Busy. I don’t have to keep apologizing. I can be great at being Busy. But I can be great at doing less, writing more, loving more. I can be my best when I’m doing the things, leading the things, participating in the things…and I can keep learning how to belong because I choose it, because I am a grown-up human made up of Parts who are learning how to work together.

***

In other news…I’m working at Palimpsest Press! Yaya! It’s a dream gig working with the amazing Aimee, publisher extraordinaire. It’s a part-time job but full-time awesome!

And…I’ve been accepted into the Humber School for Writers Creative Writing – Fiction, Creative Non-Fiction, Poetry graduate certificate program beginning in January 2024. Oh boy, mama’s going back to school! It’s on-line, but that counts! For now, I’m writing my little heart out to get my first draft of a *new novel* completed. Yes, it will include pieces form what I’ve written over this year, and it is totally inspired by all the changes I’ve experienced. I’m very excited! More to come on this front…

These are the Busy-s I’m choosing to thrive in!

Wanna Get Busy With Me?

I’ve started a writer’s group! Three hours once a month where we gather to learn, share and write! Our first gathering is Sunday, October 15th from 1pm – 4pm. No registration is necessary…for now! Bring your writing tools and your writing heart!

For more info, CLICK HERE!

TICKETS ARE ON SALE NOW! Join us as we celebrate our love for books with the May Court Club family. We’ll feast and enjoy readings by local authors, myself included!

I’m participating in National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo) this November. I’ll be hosting two write-ins at the Lodge at Lakeshore, a gorgeous, giant log cabin perfect for writing your masterpiece! Whether you’re doing NaNo or not, you’re more than welcome to come and write!

Beautiful view of Montmartre in Paris….HAPPY GIVING OF THANKS!