"It Happened to Me Too"

Finding connection in the tough stuff

Last month’s newsletter got something like double the views of the previous most-read installment, which I found more than a little strange. Don’t you all come here for writing stuff? I was sure I’d gone off the rails, writing not about writing, but about my very personal experience with an apparently-very-common pregnancy complication.

But then, some of my favorite writing to read is incredibly personal, so maybe I’m not the only one. It was just funny timing, since I’ve been trying to be more aware of boundaries and privacy (not my strengths, but I’d like them to be, and they’re extremely important to my husband). I guess I’m really seeking balance – between connecting with readers and keeping something back just for myself.

Because the connection is what drives me. I realized this while talking to my therapist earlier this month. We were talking about my sideways announcement of the pregnancy here in this newsletter and I was speculating about how I’d respond if I were to miscarry – would I write about it, here or elsewhere? If I did, would that mean I was ‘using’ my own trauma as fodder for an essay? As we talked, I realized that, far from my motivation being mercenary or even exhibitionist, at my core I’m driven to connect with people. Especially strangers, which may seem odd, but the people close to me have often misunderstood me (sometimes willfully and continuously for decades), and strangers seem to come to my self-exploration with curiosity and empathy, for which I am infinitely appreciative.

And it’s not just about what I get out of it, either. Earlier this month, for the penultimate class in my course on memoir writing at The Loft, I assigned this excerpt of Elizabeth McKracken’s exceptional memoir, An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination. We were talking about writing that deals with (and often re-enervates) trauma, and both this excerpt and the other incredible piece I assigned were difficult to read in my current state. But, funnily enough, it wasn’t the loss that caught me as I re-read the McKracken excerpt; it was this beautiful moment:

It's a sort of kinship, is all I can say, as though there is a family tree of grief. On this branch the lost children, on this the suicided parents, here the beloved mentally ill siblings. When something terrible happens you discover all of a sudden that you have a new set of relatives, people with whom you can speak in the shorthand of cousins.

Twice now since Pudding has died I have heard the story of someone who knows someone who's had a stillborn child, and it's all I can do not to book a flight immediately, to show up somewhere I'm not wanted, just so that I can say, "It happened to me, too," because it meant so much to me to hear it. "It happened to me, too," meant: "It's not your fault." And, "You are not a freak of nature.” And, "This does not have to be a secret."

I felt (still feel) that way about the heartbreak and trauma I went through after my engagement ended in 2014, and I feel the same way about this pregnancy complication – should I miscarry, which of course I’m hoping I won’t (knock on wood/kinehora/god willing and the creek don’t rise), I suspect I’ll feel the same.

All of which is to say that writing about myself and my most seemingly-private experiences, while some people may see it as exhibitionist or attention-seeking, is actually about connection – both finding it for myself and offering it to others. This kind of writing life isn’t for everyone, but it makes me feel less alone, better understood, and like I can turn painful experiences into something useful. So I guess I’ll keep doing it (sometimes with apologies to my husband).

Recent Writing

During one of my many overhauls of my second book, I pulled a scene I really loved to make room for other, more relevant moments. I always tell my students never to trash cut parts of their books, because some pieces may be repurposable as essays or short stories, and now I finally have an example! The Heartland Society of Women Writers accepted my submission of that much-loved, half-discarded scene as a standalone story, which was published this month.

Recent Reading

I spent the first nine days of this month in beautiful southwest Florida, thanks to the generosity (of both spirit and money) of my friend Francesca Donlan and her team at the Lee County Visitor & Convention Bureau. They hosted a handful of writers on Captiva Island to celebrate the anniversary of a beautiful little book by Anne Morrow Lindbergh called A Gift From the Sea. I’d never read it when Francesca reached out about the retreat, but now I have and I can say wholeheartedly that it is a lovely, thoughtful, extremely relatable collection of essays about life and society from a woman’s perspective.

Seriously, though, how talented is my hairdresser??

A Random Joy

The retreat was by far one of the best things to happen to me this year, despite being very much planned and not at all random. What was unexpected, though, was the kinship I felt with all the other women in our group of writers – every conversation I had was inspiring and touching and thoughtful, and many of them were also hilarious. It was such a needed reminder that I thrive in community with others, after nearly two years of mostly staying home alone-ish (no shade to my two favorite dudes, my husband and our cat).

We took a group photo on the last night of the trip, but my pregnancy breasts look quite inappropriate in it, so instead I’ll offer this: writers in conversation on the beach at sunset.

Bonus Random Joy

I found this perfect little Santa at our local bookstore and I used the “it’s for the baby” loophole in our Christmas ornament-buying rule to justify bringing him home. I think he really belongs with us.