YES to all of this! I get into long circular debates with my brother about the mind/body split, and I always argue that there isn’t a split- the mind is part of the body, we think through our bodies, whatever consciousness is it happens through and because of a physical form.
I really enjoyed this piece Layla. I very much resonate with your bodily experience of writing, I too, sweat and write with a racing heart some days. On others, especially in writing the book I'm working on now based around women's stories, I cry. It doesn't feel like sad tears, more tears of release, and I don't think they are mine. Yes yes yes to "our bodies are making our books" xx
Gosh Layla, it feels that you have inhaled so much into your cells and out again from your retreat. I can almost feel you moving. And I went with you. The body, the body.
I write about mine and its cancery main story as it attempts to take me in one direction whilst my spirit and pre-cancer self wants to go in another. It is beyond complex! I am constantly building a new version of me and the words, the letters and the community all help.
Cancer has released my creativity and my urge to scribe. Ravel and unravel as we go! Thank you so much for this.
so much of what you say fascinates me Mel - how you feel split in two, the rebuilding of new versions of yourself, how the words and the community help. Also find how you have more of an urge to scribe now really resonating. It was my three months in hospital that unleashed that in me, too.... i'm still grappling with why that was. Sending love x
Love what you say about how sweaty writing on retreat can be. Why is that?! No amount of showers can help me in those times, either. The brain on overdrive, the body heating up and maybe reminding us with its smell that corporeally we still exist...
When I look up from the laptop screen and my cheeks are flushed, I know I've been writing, properly writing. It's a bit like cold water swimming - a kind of exquisite torture that I can't stop doing, over and over again. I have been thinking about Ana Mendieta's work too. Now I want to read Hélène Cixous too, what book is this?
Yes there’s much crossover with swimming. Lose yourself in both. Cixous- the main essay is The Laugh of Medusa, but here’s a great looking anthology of her work I’d love to get called White Ink.
Beautiful piece on writing from our bodies. The move from writing thoughts of the mind to writing from the story of the body. Our memoir, our stories, our truth.
I really enjoyed this Layla, I really really do relate to writing being such a bodily process. I know when my words are ‘complete’ (or as complete as they are going to be) because my body signals to me. I know I need to write when I feel frustration simmering in the shape of irritability. I feel relief when I have actually managed to spill out what has been bubbling at the surface. And the dry eyes and thirstiness are always a sign of a long stint of being absorbed in the page. All of it is such an embodied process and I’m really grateful for that. Thank you for putting it into words. Xx
I read the post three times. The fist thought was: I need to roll myself into earth. Ana Mendieta is amazing. So interesting. Belly full of air and overwhelmed brain: I have it. I wonder if it’s because I’m working deeply with myself on how to give birth to my true self (a life’s journey). So when I write, my body disappears, pours into the creative process. Makes it happen. Muscles are relieved. And my brain is slowing down while concentrating in something that gives me the feeling of being in a womb. I need to play a lot.
Oh Eva, so much wisdom in your words here. Giving birth to true self. The womb space of writing … and biggest (&hardest of all for me actually) the PLAY!! We need to play so much more! That’s why I danced my heart out one day … thanks for this share x
It’s easy to be so wise when is Saturday, your kids are away for the weekend, and I added a small removable table in my kitchen full of colour, books, pens, prompt for writing 🔝😃.
Writing from my body never occurred to me but, after reading this, I realize that I have done it unconsciously. Thank you for your insight. A short bit from my upcoming memoir:
When life or loss or failure overwhelms me, I head for water. Water holds me when I am sad and absorbs pain that I can’t share with anyone. When my marriage ended, when my parents died, when my children were hurt, I dove in. On my darkest days, I stay under as long as possible and scream. Then I surface with what’s left of me and float.
YES to all of this! I get into long circular debates with my brother about the mind/body split, and I always argue that there isn’t a split- the mind is part of the body, we think through our bodies, whatever consciousness is it happens through and because of a physical form.
Was listening to an interview with Gabor Maté recently and he says exactly this - that it is all part of one system
Ooh I shall have to track that one down (for interest but also to help me win my next debate with my brother 😂)
I’ll try and find and share later this evening x
here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMqYCrRAfOE
I really enjoyed this piece Layla. I very much resonate with your bodily experience of writing, I too, sweat and write with a racing heart some days. On others, especially in writing the book I'm working on now based around women's stories, I cry. It doesn't feel like sad tears, more tears of release, and I don't think they are mine. Yes yes yes to "our bodies are making our books" xx
It feels so important to write with all of ourselves, tears included.
Gosh Layla, it feels that you have inhaled so much into your cells and out again from your retreat. I can almost feel you moving. And I went with you. The body, the body.
I write about mine and its cancery main story as it attempts to take me in one direction whilst my spirit and pre-cancer self wants to go in another. It is beyond complex! I am constantly building a new version of me and the words, the letters and the community all help.
Cancer has released my creativity and my urge to scribe. Ravel and unravel as we go! Thank you so much for this.
so much of what you say fascinates me Mel - how you feel split in two, the rebuilding of new versions of yourself, how the words and the community help. Also find how you have more of an urge to scribe now really resonating. It was my three months in hospital that unleashed that in me, too.... i'm still grappling with why that was. Sending love x
The grapple and the rewind and the unwind… it’s a lot. 🧡
Thank you friend.
I wrote today a painful piece about Sarah my co-pilot and how her body became mine. Her lungs my lungs. Might be of interest to your bodily self.
It’s world cancer day.
Cancer can do one. ✌🏽
Love what you say about how sweaty writing on retreat can be. Why is that?! No amount of showers can help me in those times, either. The brain on overdrive, the body heating up and maybe reminding us with its smell that corporeally we still exist...
You’ve no idea how relieved I am to have other people say same here on this one! My body really was in overdrive!
When I look up from the laptop screen and my cheeks are flushed, I know I've been writing, properly writing. It's a bit like cold water swimming - a kind of exquisite torture that I can't stop doing, over and over again. I have been thinking about Ana Mendieta's work too. Now I want to read Hélène Cixous too, what book is this?
Yes there’s much crossover with swimming. Lose yourself in both. Cixous- the main essay is The Laugh of Medusa, but here’s a great looking anthology of her work I’d love to get called White Ink.
Beautiful piece on writing from our bodies. The move from writing thoughts of the mind to writing from the story of the body. Our memoir, our stories, our truth.
Writing from the story of the body, YES X
Such a thought provoking piece Layla, and thank you for flagging up the two Arvon courses. I’m looking forward to sharing Polly’s workshop with you 💕
oh wonderful, I'm really looking forward to it x
I really enjoyed this Layla, I really really do relate to writing being such a bodily process. I know when my words are ‘complete’ (or as complete as they are going to be) because my body signals to me. I know I need to write when I feel frustration simmering in the shape of irritability. I feel relief when I have actually managed to spill out what has been bubbling at the surface. And the dry eyes and thirstiness are always a sign of a long stint of being absorbed in the page. All of it is such an embodied process and I’m really grateful for that. Thank you for putting it into words. Xx
Thanks for sharing this Lauren. I'm really appreciating everyone else sharing their own physical experiences of writing - I find it fascinating! xxx
I read the post three times. The fist thought was: I need to roll myself into earth. Ana Mendieta is amazing. So interesting. Belly full of air and overwhelmed brain: I have it. I wonder if it’s because I’m working deeply with myself on how to give birth to my true self (a life’s journey). So when I write, my body disappears, pours into the creative process. Makes it happen. Muscles are relieved. And my brain is slowing down while concentrating in something that gives me the feeling of being in a womb. I need to play a lot.
Oh Eva, so much wisdom in your words here. Giving birth to true self. The womb space of writing … and biggest (&hardest of all for me actually) the PLAY!! We need to play so much more! That’s why I danced my heart out one day … thanks for this share x
It’s easy to be so wise when is Saturday, your kids are away for the weekend, and I added a small removable table in my kitchen full of colour, books, pens, prompt for writing 🔝😃.
Sounds just perfect. Lap it up ✨
You’re welcome for a coffee ☕️ anytime!
Writing from my body never occurred to me but, after reading this, I realize that I have done it unconsciously. Thank you for your insight. A short bit from my upcoming memoir:
When life or loss or failure overwhelms me, I head for water. Water holds me when I am sad and absorbs pain that I can’t share with anyone. When my marriage ended, when my parents died, when my children were hurt, I dove in. On my darkest days, I stay under as long as possible and scream. Then I surface with what’s left of me and float.
Empty, I sometimes fall asleep while floating.