Writing for Wellbeing groups can bring to mind so many memories. It is like looking at a living image in one’s mind and body.
I went to a monthly peer group recently. They are always inspirational and can trigger varying responses depending on the facilitator and the theme. It’s never possible to know ahead of the workshop what is going to be the outcome in terms of writing. It can be memories, insights, self-knowledge or a mixture of all three and more.
The particular group which inspired this blog was held in October. I love this time of year. It was a sunny, fresh morning when I sat down at my desk early to see what would transpire. It’s always exciting and, in turn, can sometimes be challenging. These groups are online as participants live far and wide. But we meet regularly through our shared interest in biblio/poetry therapy and we have become friends. When we are engrossed in our writing and feedback, we are so connected it feels as though we are in the same space.
After our initial greetings on this autumn morning, the theme was announced by the session’s facilitator – Hearing.
We listened to music, discussed our favourite sounds, listened to a poem, followed by writing down words as we physically put our hands to our ears and felt them.
The session progressed. I won’t write all of it in this blog post as it was varied and would take some time. Furthermore, we do not disclose others’ experiences and what they say outside the group. But, as the following is about part of my life, it is ethical for me to do so. At one point as we felt our ears, we were reflecting on the words and invited to write down anything which came to us, for instance, a memory or connection with our ears.
One of the memories that sprang to my mind was of another autumnal day many years ago now when my son Adam was born. It was Michaelmas Day, a beautiful day full of sunshine to be and promise, both in the weather and the years to follow. Adam was born at home by the open fire in the early hours of the morning. I woke and within what I remember as a fairly pain-free hour he was born. Born early, he was small and tender, keen to get here into this world, I like to think to be with us. He gazed around for a moment, it was if he was saying Oh, I’m here, am I? He looked like a wizened, wise sage of old, before possessing the presence of a newborn baby. The midwife arrived for a cup of tea!
The next day I wrapped him up in soft blankets and we sat amongst the shelter of a hedge of sunflowers we had planted in the spring. I can see the day now. I remember stroking his beautiful face, including his little ears. What a precious moment. I need no photos of it, the day is in my heart and will be, always.
It’s amazing what unexpected gifts we are offered in being given writing prompts.