Things I Don’t Yet Understand

I submitted one of my poems to be published in a zine that gets distributed in a few different cities. I was fully expecting it to go nowhere.

Yesterday, I got an email saying they loved my piece and will be putting it in an upcoming issue.

I’ve never submitted my work before, and honestly, because what I write is very personal to me, it isn’t something I easily share. Even though I’ve always had this hope, or goal, of one day creating enough to make a book of my poetry. Even if I only ever made a single copy for myself.

Anyway, back to the point.

I felt a sense of excitement, and maybe even pride, that it was good enough for them to select it.

I started the session by sharing that it had been selected, because I was excited and wanted to share that with someone.

She asked me what the poem was about, because I had mentioned being especially shocked, because it was a darker piece, and I would imagine it could make a lot of readers uncomfortable. I also said I was glad things like that are becoming more openly expressed.

When I opened my mouth to share what it was about, I couldn’t get myself to talk, or really form more than a short, three-word explanation.

So I sat there and tried to figure out if sharing what it’s about would be easier, or if just reading it would be easier.

I chose to read it.

Which is something I do a lot, reading my blog posts to convey things. So it’s not new. It’s a pattern.

And it’s something she’s been trying to get me to look at more.

But damn… sometimes it takes me a long time to grasp what’s happening.

Anyway, I’ve been sitting with it because I keep thinking: what is she trying to get me to see by pointing out that I often choose to read instead of talk in real time?

That I only bring things into the room after I’ve had a chance to process and figure them out alone. To have the words exactly as I want them to be.

I’m going to try not to read next session, and maybe just talk about what’s happening inside of me when things get hard.

By “hard,” I mean physically not being able to get myself to talk, or the words leaving my mind.

Barriers to me being able to stay present.

I know it ties back to me being alone while processing things as a kid, or even the lack of processing. But I also know she’s trying to get me to move into something deeper than that, and I just don’t know what that is yet.

Which is frustrating.

Because I want to know.

I know she’s not going to tell me (understandable), and it may take me a really long time to figure it out.