It never ceases to amaze
me. A group of women enter a room. Friends, acquaintances, and strangers. The introductions begin and the familiar
walls are erected. Automatic
self-protection. We all do it. Leading with our best foot. Nothing wrong with that…
But then the magic happens. A woman begins to read. It could be a work of non-fiction, a tale of
real-life. A moment of grace, a moment of
fear, a time of great joy, a description of her life or an odd
observation. It could be a story of
fiction. A made-up tale of fantasy or
hilarity or great mystery. Whatever she
reads, it is an intimate piece of her mind and heart. She
is in those words. She is unveiled, unguarded and exposed…literarily naked. She reads the words out loud and the words
bless the ones who hear. The women are united by words, and as the women read,
strangers and acquaintances dissolve into friends.
The thing is, in our day to day, we aren’t always
honest. We put on a mask for those we
don’t know. We want to be accepted, to
belong. But writing…writing has a way of
peeling away the layers of polish. It’s hard to write and leave yourself out of
it. Our inner voice is always
exposed. Our characters take on our
fears and angst. They find humor in what
we find funny, they are pieces of us and bits of our experiences. So we expose ourselves. We lay bare who we are in words and phrases
until we finish reading, put down our paper and look up. What do we expect to see in the faces of
those who listen? Blank stares? Probably.
We never expect to be understood.
I usually start my reading with a disclaimer: “I didn’t take a lot of time on this” or
“This is just sort of rough and dumb”. A
way of softening the expectation.
But I look up from my page and I see knowing. Relating.
Relief. Faces that say “I’m not
alone. I’m not weird. I’m okay.”
Walls crumble.
Bridges are built.
Perfection is annihilated.
And women are united in the truth that none of us have it
all together, nor are we expected to.
God fills in the gaps with grace.
We are all gaping examples of grace.
And it’s all good.
That’s what writing is to me…what belonging to a writing
group has done for me. It isn’t really
about writing well or writing books or gathering compliments or even being
heard. It’s about sharing. Connecting.
Growing. Empowering.
Sharing our hearts.
Connecting with other women.
Growing in faith and
confidence.
Empowering our witness to the
world through the written word.