The vulnerability struggle is real

but I have learned a lot, and found hope in the process.

Photo by Rosie Kerr on Unsplash

If you are a regular here, you will know that the last month or so has been a struggle. With a house move and an ME flare up to contend with, learning to use an electric wheelchair and the absence of stairs in my life, I have been a little (lot) discombobulated. My fragile ego has been dented, I have made mistakes and I have been too proud to allow myself to just ‘be’ when I should have. I have spent some time away from the computer (too much), I have not read as much as I wanted (hardly anything at all), and I have spent too much time on Netflix (Watching Schitts Creek for the 3rd time has really helped though!!), and there is a huge part of me that felt I wasn’t good enough to be here, that I wasn’t a ‘good enough’ poet (whatever that means), or a ‘good enough’ writer (again, WTF?!) and that my time would be better spent alone and sad and doomscrolling forever (It really wouldn’t!!). So I stayed away, and once again, mourned the loss of something that brought me joy…

Writing brings me joy - there, I said it - I am not brilliant at it, and sure, there are better writers out there, but that’s not why I write, it is certainly not why I write poetry. I write because it helps me express how I feel, because it puts into words the cobbled thoughts in my brain, and because maybe, just maybe, it will help someone else other than just me. I love writing, and I love writing poetry. What I don’t love too much, is trying to fit in, trying to be like everyone else, failing, and getting things wrong, and I think when my ego is already feeling vulnerable - like when you move to a ground floor flat and buy an electric wheelchair because you have become that disabled now with ME - it is easy to feel like you have failed in every area of your life. I would read people’s posts on Substack and feel like a complete failure, my poetry words would not come out because they weren’t as well written as others and I don’t fully understand all the poetry rules (why are there so many ‘rules’ for something as beautiful as art that comes from the writers very soul?!). I am not ashamed to say that I wallowed, and I wallowed hard.

It wasn’t just writing, last week I refused to use my electric chair because someone told me it would cramp their style (they were joking, I hope - although, yeah, not really a funny one!), but it was enough for my battered ego to push through with the walking stick and do too much, go too far, and try to ‘look normal’ as much as I could. Guess what? I crashed, hard, and I had to make the tough decision to miss out (again) on something else I really wanted to do because I had been so stupid.

My inner child craves attention - whether that is because she was ignored a lot, or just felt vulnerable and inferior to those around her, I am not sure? - I want to get things right, to not let people down and to be seen as someone who is worth loving and who does good (let’s face it, I mean ‘perfect’) things. Any time this little girl feels like she is not good enough she retreats, hides away, runs a mile, too scared to come out because she doesn’t know what is ahead. Most of the time she waits for me to tell her how silly she is, that she is so very loved and brilliant and her ‘stuff’ is just great because it comes from HER heart and that is so very different from anyone else’s, and that is OKAY!! (It would seem that all that money spent on therapy was worth it afterall!). It is this little girl that my creative side comes from, that little girl with the huge imagination, who dreamt ridiculous dreams and loved to write stories and wanted so much to become an author one day, that keeps me here.

After three weeks of running away from Substack, and trying to be the popular kid, and wrestling with chronic illness, I am back. I am here to appreciate great art, read fantastic poetry, and wonder at other marvellous people spilling their hearts out onto the page and generally being wonderful. I am here to stake my place again, to write from the heart - even if it is cringe, or oversharing, or not good enough or whatever - because here, on this blank page, I can be me. I can write and maybe another little girl can see she is not alone, maybe another writer can feel there is hope, that you don’t need to be the best of the best, or know all the rules, or write the perfect poems, you can just show up and be yourself. I am fed up of pretending this is not who I am.

I don’t have a poem to share with you this week - there has been too much going on in the world and my heart hasn’t got round to comprehending it just yet, never mind finding the words to explain it all. But I want you to know, that if you ever feel the same, if you ever feel like life is just to difficult, that you are alone, that you are not worthy - that there will always be a place for you here…

This page is called ‘Poetry and Tea’ sometimes there will be poetry, other times we will just sit and drink tea together and share what’s on our hearts. If you’re up for that, and you’re not currently a subscriber, then sign up. I promise that this space is a safe one, and that I am going to try and be as vulnerable and honest as I can with you all in my writing, and my poetry. This is not a space for polished poetry, or published poems (not that there is anything wrong with those things, I think they are fabulous, it just isn’t me!), it is a space where vulnerability and creativity meet, and where like-minded creatives can find hope.

Let’s get writing again

Until next time

Lisa x