These are the three promises I have made to myself. They are part of my goal to be a functioning, independent human being. It’s not that I’m not these things already–I am–but I sometimes forget this. I often forget myself, and I often put myself last. This has made me an incredibly vulnerable person at times. I’m tired of being a person prone to falling apart, teetering on the edge of despair.

So I’m giving myself a head-space make over. And writing is a key component. The seven years and nearly half-million dollars invested in my education as a writer is important to me and has shaped me as a person. Writing is something I have always done, since the days when I first became verbal. I’ve come to learn that when I don’t write, I start to wilt, and that withering causes me to not write. It’s a vicious cycle that I refuse to feed any longer. So I will write. Every day, Wren. Every day.

Committing to make the world a better place might seem like a vague and tall order, but it really doesn’t have to be. It can be as simple as saying “thank you” and holding the door, or it can be far more. Either way, being mindful to stewardship and being kind is a moral and ethical obligation to me as a human being.

I’ve already touched a bit on not forgetting myself, but this is important. I really need to learn to put myself first. This has always been really difficult for me, for as long as I can remember. I’ve had altruism drilled so deep into my brain that it feels wrong to take care of myself. And it shouldn’t be that way.

And it won’t. I promise.

Blank pages are pregnant with possibility. You could put anything down a glaringly white (or ivory, or whatever) piece of paper, and it’s exactly that potential that is so exciting and alluring. It’s also terrifying. Why, what is one to do if one puts the wrong thing down on that precious paper? What if you make a mistake? Or worse: what if it’s stupid? This is perhaps the single reason why I respect any artist: they all are putting themselves out there and opening themselves up to ridicule. It’s definitely the hardest part of the process for me.

I know I am a capable writer, and most of the writers I encounter in workshops and what-not tend to agree. And yet, every single person I have ever been in a workshop has, in some form or another, encountered the irrational fear and shame that I have in my work. Though I am proud to say this has improved greatly over the years, especially the confidence I have in my criticism. In a shocing reversal, Wren the Critic is more confident than Wren the Writer. This must indicate that I’ve grown more confident as a writer, too.

Back to my original point: blank pages are frightening things to deal with. The boxes and boxes of blank notebooks in my parents’ basement can attest to this. I’ll fully admit I’m a bit of a perfectionist: revision-as-process is my modus operandi. Yet another thing I’ve been working to change in my approach. My academic writing is always a one step process. I’ve never done a full revision of anything academic. Ever. And I’m sure that comes out in my blog posts, as well. How many times have I gone off on a tangent in this post already?

What really made me start thinking about all this is that I bought a new notebook today. A new notebook that prompted my mother to chastise me about all the boxes in the basement. It’s no secret I have trouble marring pages. Especially in purposeless books.

But this moleskine has a purpose. I’m consolidating my life into one place: calendars, planning, writing, ideas, random notes, etc. Not exactly an original idea for a moleskine, but it’s an effective plan. I slapped some indexing tabs on (in?) it and have broken in the spine. It’s all ready for some ink.

And I did the most important thing: I marred every single page. There are no blank pages in my new notebook now, which means there is nothing to fear about sullying them more. And I’ve already gotten some meaningful use out of five pages. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.

Dear Edward —

It’s been a long time. Do you remember me? Of course you do. I “took” your virginity. That’s not the right words, though, is it? You made me take it; no wasn’t an option.

How has that been working out for you? I mean, not very many people spend their entire sexual lives as rapists. Is every encounter rape? I hope not because no one gave me the opportunity to stop you. I genuinely hope you are doing better.

I’m not writing you to berate you. Quite opposite. I love you. Our chance encounter at summer camp changed my life forever. I was angry for a long time, but I cannot live my life ruled by it and, by extension, you. In so many ways I’m glad it was me. It didn’t ruin me and it was never the worst thing that happened to me. Yes, it changed me, but I’m glad it wasn’t someone who would have been destroyed.

And I do love you, because without you, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I wouldn’t know how strong I am. I wouldn’t know how to refuse to be a victim. I wouldn’t have been able to care for my friends as I did when their own traumas surfaced.

You made me a better person. You made me a worse person, but I cannot ignore how good you made me. Without you I don’t know where I would be, or who I would be. I know I relate to others better than I did. I know my compassion and ability to forgive is nearly endless. You taught me these things.

I am the woman I am today because of you. Thank you for letting me become myself.

All my love,
Wren

I have never named him publicly before. I have never named these guys publicly either:

Dear Jakub, Dan, Chadd, and the Others Whose Names I No Longer Know —

Good evening, gentlemen. I doubt you know why I am writing you after all these years. Rape was pretty funny to you boys at 17 so I doubt you committed your crimes to memory.

This is not about that, though. I do not wish to judge you. This is my time now.

Thank you for teaching me that I need to be more self-reliant. When situations get sticky, I now know that I must be able to handle it myself. People will often not do the obvious right thing.

And I love you for showing just how important doing the right thing is. You laughed when my rapist told you his plans. You laughed and did nothing. Well, you laughed behind my back when I walked by, and avoided my gaze when you found me crying afterward. Because of you, I always do the right thing. Even when it is hard or inconvenient. I am a good person because I have learned from your mistakes.

I love you, even though you are a bunch of douchebags.

Love,
Wren

This is what accountability and release looks like.

The good thing, though, is that I feel that need, that hunger again. That need to succeed will drive me to start writing again. Writing for myself isn’t something I have done in quite some time. I began writing poetry again on and off about a year ago. We’ll see if the fiction comes back, too.

I’m constantly trying to be a better person, to rise above the negativity in my life and move on. While in theory this sounds like an easy thing to do, in practice it is a very difficult battle that I fight every single day. I do it gladly, however, because I can see the person I want to be, and I’m willing to fight hard to become that woman.

One of my big problems is holding on to anger and resentment. I’ve made huge steps on this end over the past few months, but there’s still so much room for growth. I’m certainly a more patient person than I was, and a more open person, but it still isn’t enough. I’m still not where I want to be.

I’ve found something that has been helping, however. I’ve been writing love letters to all the people I have felt have wronged me. Instead of clinging to that rage and letting it eat me alive, I have been trying to find why these so-called betrayals are things I should be thankful for. I have forced myself to re-examine my life and find the positive instead of focusing on the negative.

It’s a very good exercise, but also a very surreal one. The other day, for instance, I wrote one to someone with the dubious title of “The Other Woman.”  Today I found myself writing to my rapist. It’s something I thought I would never do, but to find the positive in such horror has been so freeing.

To find the good in it all is life affirming. This exercise in love and forgiveness has really given me the chance to refocus my life. I refuse to be gripped by anger and negativity for any longer. I cannot remember the last time I was fully free from resentment. Pessimism is not the answer; it has proven to be a dead end. The opportunities to turn that hatred inward are too great, and I can see where I have been led down that path too many times.

I’m taking a stand. For the person I want to be and the person I know I can be. It is far easier to continue to live the fearful life, to stay where we are comfortable and with what we know. I reject this idea. I have not been happy, and there is no reason for this to continue. I am brave and I am ready to start walking forward.