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Start Again
My eyes fixed on the pen
My hand hesitant
Body heavy in the chair.
Write something, anything.
I pause—images float to the surface of my mind
I want to shove them back down—forget
Pick up the pen and face yourself, cheers Natalie Goldberg.
I clutch the pen.
My hand begins from left to right
Words appear—memories
printed along the 45 miles of nerves making up my body.
Tingles, burns, and zaps shout in protection.
Keep writing, keep writing.
My pen moves fast across the page
Words not allowed to be said
Truth swept under the rug
in black ink stares back at me.
Keep going, keep going
I hear the whisper from the page
My fist loosens around the pen
I breathe—notice the tension in my back,
hip and shoulders begin to soften.
Inhale, exhale— breath deepens.
My vigilant nervous system is standing down.
My heart slows—no longer racing in fear.
There is no lion here.
Keep writing, keep writing is all I hear.
My back releases its grip with each word safe
to slump over the page — I am safe.
The sentences move down the paper—to confront,
to heal.
I have the right to write, says Julia Cameron.
My shoulders drop from my ears at the last sentence.
I set down the pen until tomorrow
To start again— confront my fears,
own my truth, find my voice,
And start again.
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