Why Write...Now?
Death, Talismans, Madonna
"Why write...now?" Three simple words, but a vital question that demands an answer to the motive for my change of heart.
Dr. Edith Eva Eger, in her 2017 book, The Choice, about her experiences both as a Holocaust survivor and a psychotherapist, talks about the question, "Why now?" Whenever she was confronted with a new patient, her approach was always the same--questions. I loved her description:
*"Why now?...This was my secret weapon. The question I always ask my patients on a first visit. I need to know why they are motivated to change. Why today, of all days...Why is today different from yesterday, or last week, or last year? Why is today different from tomorrow?"*
But before I can even answer why I would write now, I need to answer the question that came before it: "Why write?" I had actually tried three times before to write something about sexual abuse, wanting to help someone else in the same situation. I tried articles for adults, a picture book for small children, a chapter book for older kids. No matter what I did, it didn't come out right. The message was wrong...missing...useless. What could I tell a child that might help their situation? "Go tell an adult, and they can help you?" First, I am not a therapist. And second, if I said that, would I be opening them up to a world of more hurt with a simplistic answer?
Even when professionals try to intervene, there are no guarantees that it will be better. Sometimes if a child tells, they risk breaking up their family, retribution for speaking, possibly being removed from the home and put in foster care, or maybe ending up in a worse situation. If authorities remove the offending parent, the entire family's financial stability might be at risk. I so wanted to make a useful contribution. But what message could I give to anyone?
Also, I realized I didn't even have my own answers. Why would I think I could answer someone else? Even with years of therapy, I was still digesting my own story. Yes, I had learned to survive, grow, and heal. I was working hard to break the cycle so my son never knew that kind of life. My husband and I were working hard to be each other's best friends, and I was busy working. So while I had made a lot of strides, the truth was I didn't even know yet how much I didn't know.
Eventually, I gave up, convinced it was useless. My therapist, my husband, and a few friends disagreed, but I was adamant. How could I give anyone answers when I had none? It seemed like supreme arrogance on my part.
That is when a powerful force in my life, someone I will speak of later, delivered the sage advice that made all the difference:
*"You don't give anyone their answers. You tell your own story, and let the reader use that to untie their own "Gordian knot" and find their own answers."*
Sheer brilliance. My job was to tell. Theirs was to use it in whatever way served them best. My resistance dissolved. Yes, I needed to write my story, if only to continue to find my own answers and let others use that however they would.
So, back to the question, "Why write NOW?"
Well, for one, I am entering my 7th decade of life, so it's not like I've got all the time in the world. But still, I struggled to write. I did a lot of journaling. I tried out a couple of different approaches to a memoir. Yet, the path, the right words eluded me. Until 2021.
I could say it started with my Mother's death at the end of that year. For sure, that was the final crack in my 3-foot-thick emotional wall. My father had already died in 2013. With her gone, I was free to choose: "Do I confront the demons, or leave them buried forever?" And while I had no idea then the depth of it all, I could feel the rumblings of emotions that I'd never sensed before. I had them too locked down to ever let them speak before. But in the upheaval following her death, I was so emotional I couldn't even listen to regular songs on the radio for over a year. My nerves could only stand quiet classical, or instrumental/New Age melodies.
Her death triggered the beginning of a soul journey that has and continues to take me to depths I never saw coming. And my traveling tools were things like trauma therapy techniques, journaling, painting, and my "Talismans," techniques I'd used my whole life to survive that household. I'll speak of them soon, but for now I will mention just one here because it directly relates to my decision to write NOW. The talisman of songs, and in particular, a very specific artist and her songs.
For whatever reason, songs have had a powerful effect on me my whole life. There is something about the energy of a certain melody, the artist's choice of lyrics - they speak to me, as if they were God's personal messaging tool. In fact, when I charted a timeline of my life, scribbled everywhere along that sheet were song names. I have joked with friends that I have my very own "life playlist," but it's really the truth.
For example, 1969 was a life-altering year for me--my freshman year of high school. A chance meeting with a key teacher changed the trajectory of what could have been a bleak, short life, as I was giving up. I will speak more of her later, and yes, she is the same person who gave me the sage advice above on why I needed to write. For now, I will simply say that she was the so very right person, at the right time, in the right place, and she saved my life. Given that, I now consider 1969 as my "re-birth year," and anything from that year just hooks me in a way few other things do.
The other day, the car radio started playing a song from 1969, "Jean," which was from the movie "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie." It was sung masterfully by an artist named Oliver. It was like the snap of a hypnotist's fingers - I was immediately back in 1969 emotionally. The melody, the lyrics, his delivery filled me with both bliss at the memory, and sorrow at the realization of so many years now gone. The Academy Award winner for best actress that year was for that movie — Dame Maggie Smith. She is gone. That song, sung so well by Oliver, also won an Academy Award that year. And he, too, is gone. So all that emotion, linked directly to the changes that year made in my life, coupled with the awareness of the loss of so many people, hit me like a brick.
Maybe this is my way of explaining why a similar car radio moment in 2023 was the defining moment that blasted me out of my procrastination to write. That moment triggered my soul's ultimatum to me: "What are you waiting for? You are not going to live forever."
I was heading to the grocery store when I heard a news report on the radio that Madonna was severely ill with a bacterial infection and in a coma. My heart froze. First it was shock that someone close to my age, and such a powerhouse of a person at that, was near death. I was a bacteriologist for many years, so I knew from their description, her life was in danger and she might not make it.
I was immediately overwhelmed with fear and a deep heartache. On one level, my reaction surprised me because it came on so strongly. But on reflection, it really wasn't a shock after all.
Now Madonna doesn't know that I exist, and that is fine. We are very different people moving in very different worlds. But there is something about her that is a kindred spirit to me. In a way, we both grew up together in the early 1980s. She was fighting tooth and nail to build her life, her career. She was fighting back against an industry that chewed up women and spit them out in pieces. While I may not have made all the choices she did, she...her life...her determination, work ethic...pain, all resonated with me. With only her own sheer grit to drive her, she built her life on her terms. Agree or disagree on anything she did, doesn't matter to me. You gotta hand it to her. Madonna BUILT her world HER way, and at a time when women weren't supposed to. She is the ultimate self-made woman in that industry who blazed a trail for so many younger singers after her.
But even more than her persona, there were her songs. Oh, her songs! They filled me with joy, made me laugh, dance, sing along, and later, cry. Even now in my 7th decade, when "Material Girl" or "Into the Groove" comes on the radio, I crank it up and belt out the songs with her. They were fun, high-spirited, joyful balms to my battered soul as I went through some of the worst days of my life. There was the raw sensuality of "Like a Prayer. " The pure catalyzing energy of “Dress You Up." The pleading hope in "Papa Don't Preach." And that line in "Open Your Heart" about not running because she can keep up with you....that was my mantra in those early years: Anything ANYONE could do, I would do just as good or better just to prove to me I could do it. All it took was work, determination, and strength. And I had those, especially once I was free of that house. I was a fighter. A survivor. And I saw that in her.
I cannot explain it, but I feel a bond with her because so much of her work was a lifeline for me. And on another level, I feel for her. I can't know her life story. And certainly, she's been controversial, and some people hate her. I don't care. I sense a wound and a pain and a deep soul that I have a parallel to. We are children born in the 1950s with that Catholic school, immigrant upbringing. She lost her Mother. Mine was never there for me. She had a difficult relationship with her Father, for whatever reason. My Father and our relationship were a battleground to the end. She was harmed by people. So was I. So her songs gave me a lift, her feisty flipping-off of convention and authority made me laugh and relate, and her fighting to do it on her terms, I respected totally.
But most of all, there was that song she did in 1986 - "Live to Tell." Oh...my...God. I had been busy with healing, growing, marriage, fighting my father, and a new baby through those years. So I never noticed the lyrics to that song until about 1993 or so, at a pivotal moment about confronting my father. Her lyrics hit me like a freight train. I still remember the moment. I was talking with my husband in our bedroom about yet another concern that my Dad wasn't safe around our kids, and what do we do? There was a pause in the conversation, and in that moment, the song "Live to Tell" came on the radio. The raw, haunting words and Madonna's delivery flooded the room and penetrated our hearts -- "secrets, lies, struggling for the strength, and if, when, and how to tell ‘them.’" That song still rocks me to my core and makes me wonder what else is in her pain. But for sure, that song spoke to my pain that day, my struggles, and my reality. Both my husband and I stopped dead in our tracks at her words, looked at each other, and just said, "Oh...my...God."
So, It goes without saying that I was deeply relieved to hear of her recovery. I saw the video where she spoke emotionally at a concert about her gratitude to her caregiver. About being reduced to crawling to the bathroom and wondering if you will make it to see another day. We had been through something like that when my husband almost died, and yes, confronting mortality unexpectedly is a real shock to your system. It is that "no-solid-ground-under-your-feet" moment when your "illusion" of being strong and self-sufficient evaporates. It becomes instantly clear that there will be a day - you know not when - where "Time's up. You're done." Which was the other reaction I'd had that day to the news that she might die.
I was hit with the jarring thought: "What about...me?" I am three years older than her and have a number of health issues. Life is flying by, and sometimes I still think I am 10. But I am not, and none of us knows what we get for time. Suddenly, those words in that particular song, her haunting voice speaking of the secret she hides and how will they know, all came rushing back. It tore me open. That's when I knew...and committed to this book.
This book has to be written not "someday," but NOW. I didn't live through all those things to never answer life's question: "Because of what happened, what will you do with it?" If I died before I fulfilled that mission, in my mind, that would be the ultimate tragedy. All those abandoned fragments of me deserve better.
So...NOW, after 7 decades of silence, I will do what that song asks of me. I will "tell."
Before I move on, this entry would be incomplete without a thank you to Madonna - for the lifeline of your music, your words, the sweat and tears of your soul poured into in each one of them…and the reminder that live is not endless. Thank you.