Chasing Monsters

My post this month is more of an update on my mental health, which as you may imagine affects my writing pretty deeply.

The last five years or so, I’ve been trying like hell to get past whatever block I’ve had over promoting my books and actually building a career. I hired a life coach. I started listening to self-help podcasts. I did shamanic journeys into my subconscious mind. It all helped a little, but nothing was quite breaking through.

Then I started getting severe neck and head pain. My doctor was baffled. X-rays and an MRI were normal. Pain killers, physical therapy, stretching, nothing helped. I finally figured out on my own that the pain was coming from trauma inflicted by the pandemic. So I got in with a therapist.

During my time with this therapist, who is very good, by the way, I discovered a traumatizing childhood memory of being punished in art class for not following the directions. This wouldn’t have phased me, I think, except that the teacher that year hated me and was constantly out to get me, and even told my mother that I had “everyone fooled” about what a horrible kid I secretly was. I started talking about killing myself. I was nine . . . ? Maybe ten.

When she belittled me in front of the class over my art project being wrong, she murdered a piece of my soul. My mom went in and told her off, but of course that just made the teacher meaner to me.

Our once-a-week art teacher supported my art, otherwise I think I might have stopped creating entirely. Instead, I just got terrified about showing people my art. Including my writing.

When that memory re-surfaced (I knew that had happened, see “Mr. Beck” for the whole story; I just didn’t think it was still affecting me so badly), my therapist said “Let’s do EMDR on that memory.”

Holy shit ya’ll.

The tears. The shaking. The tremors in my face. And every single person who’s ever given me a compliment on my writing crowded into my mind, repeating how much they love my work and how excited they are for the next book. The sheer amount of support was overwhelming.

If you’ve ever said you liked my writing, you were there, giving me crazy strength.

When I say your appreciation lifts me up and keeps me going, I really can’t express to you how true that really is.

Together, you chased out the fear and pain caused by that memory, and I realized I can do this.

I can build this career that I so badly want.

Because you’re here.

Thank you.