This past summer I had the privilege of taking a workshop with writer and Podcast host, Cheryl Strayed. Probably best known for her memoir “Wild,” Cheryl (I pretend we’re on a first-name basis) is someone who possesses the rare and magnificent gift of placing word after beautiful word down in such a way hearts can sometimes skip beats. The workshop audience of 1,000 admirers, writers, and writer wannabes were given multiple 10-minute writing prompts that served to gently nudge us toward long forgotten places or experiences that are challenging to face. Reluctant audience volunteers then went to the front of the entire group to read what they had written. Every. Broken. Word. Was. On. Full. Display. Someone’s mother had committed suicide; one woman had lost her son to a tragic car accident; another had been relentlessly bullied throughout her childhood for being gay, and the words “poverty,” “incest,” and “molestation” sadly themed. But as the day carried on, I became acutely aware of the tone of the readings. Like the impact of a high mileage prayer, there was the arrival of humor and love and something resembling forgiveness and the tenuous tendrils of understanding and even acceptance. But there was also the rawness of vulnerability present and the bountiful nature of hearts on glorious display. (I pause to say that I was not one of the brave speakers during this two-day workshop. I did, however, read every little everything I wrote to complete strangers in private settings. This alone nearly did me in.)
Cheryl, herself, was molested in early childhood by her grandfather. She also lived in extreme ways with a mother who she loved dearly but was not of the grounded (nor garden) variety and a stepfather who, after her mother died, transformed into an extremely difficult man. There is more. There’s always more. Anyway, with all that she went through, which she speaks liberally about, she comes to her audiences (and to her books, Dear Sugar newsletter, and podcast) with an open and welcoming presence. I remember thinking to myself, how can I get what she has? As it turned out, I can.
As a childhood victim of my father’s rage and my mother’s powerlessness, I have spent a lifetime sifting through the ravages. My sensitive and light-hearted nature hardened over the years as an innate and effective survival technique in a home plagued with abuse. Once I had children of my own and uncovered the deep swells of love and tenderness I possessed for them, the sorrow surrounding my own precarious childhood became reignited. But here’s the massive aha I learned from Cheryl that I so desperately want to share. Through whatever darkness we survive there are lessons we can learn. The darkness doesn’t define us. Instead, it paves the way toward grabbing hold of the uniquely spirited passions, how-to’s, or positive observations from our dark teachers that we were unable to see previously. Cheryl, quite literally, invited us to think more about what we gained from such challenging environments, over what we had lost.
I never told you this, but my father taught me about the beauty of words. I would watch him recite poetry during dinner (of course I would listen, but mostly watch). I would see how language touched his being and wondered, curiously, if it would ever touch mine. My father taught me to appreciate classical music. By this I mean that he shared, by example, how classical music illuminates human emotions for which words don’t suffice. The listening of classical music on my dad’s planet earth was truly something elevated and transcendent. My father taught me how to engage with people: how to make eye contact, ask questions, go beyond small talk, and tell stories. And finally, in no small way, my father taught me how to talk my way out of parking and speeding tickets.
Cheryl was not advocating stuffing away the voices that haunt us. She was not even lobbying for forgiveness. On the contrary, she emphasized honoring the fully glory of our emotions. But in addition, she was offering up an alternative that can serve to help release the shackles of a painful past.
Tell me about your dark teacher.
A selection of writing prompts, just in case:
· Write what should not be forgotten.
· Write about a time you broke a rule or code.
· Write about the hardest thing.
· Write about a secret that was kept from you, or you kept from someone else.
· Write about a day that changed everything.
· Write a birth story that isn’t a literal birth.
· Write a story you aren’t allowed to tell.
· Write about what you’re ashamed to admit.
· Write about when you almost died.
A selection of my workshop notes:
· Write big, even though our lives are small.
· Tell the story in the context of the larger human narrative.
· Challenge your perceptions about past experiences, your motivations and/or those of others.
· Make connections with the external world.
· Build bridges between what you write and what you feel.
· Study the contradictions. Paradox is ever present in the deepest of stones.
· Write with curiosity and humility.
· Writing soothes sorrows so one can be re-born.
· Don’t be falsely self-deprecating too often; lean into sincerity.
· Write the beauty into broken things.
Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room.
-Cheryl Strayed from Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar
So few grains of happiness ● measured against all the dark ● and still the scales balance.
-Jane Hirshfield from “The Weighing”
Mary Daniel is a Certified Integrative Nutrition Health Coach dedicated to the pursuit of good health for everyone. Through her business, Your One Precious Life, she partners with clients and communities and in the spirit of collaboration, paves the way for health transformations.
Interested in a free health consultation? Visit: www.youronepreciouslife.com or email mary@youronepreciouslife.com.
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