Just start! Put the marker on the page. Yes, my life has been a series of struggles. One thing after the next. I have written extensively about these events. Journals full of these stories, expressions of profound grief, bewilderment, pain, sorrow and suffering.
Stories ~ so many stories woven through the fabric of my life. Perhaps, somewhere at the core ~ the deepest core of my ‘self’ is the story I was tasked to bring to the world.
Stories ~ shaped by family, education, society, gender, country, religion. Yes ~ let’s not forget religion. The mis-shaped, toxic version that has wrapped its tentacles through my being, and around my heart, spirit and soul. The version that has informed and influenced every shaping of my being and guided the decisions I have made throughout my life. The version that is rooted in fear, control and judgement.
What would an unedited, untraumatized version of myself look like? Would I even recognise myself, know my own name? What is it that I dream for and about at this age and stage of life? It’s late afternoon.
I think society wants me to go out to pasture. To herd together with others who are also at the afternoon of life. To spend my life going on adventures, to travel to far off lands, to live in a gated village.
I need to discover my name. What I think I mean by this, is that I need to listen to the one of me who holds my name ~ the one of me buried underneath the pain, the shame, the toxic words and stories that have formed my being.
It is so much more than just knowing the meaning of my name. That’s the ‘about’ part. What I’m really talking about is the story that I, Jennie, carry.
Who am I, when I am free of those toxic ideas? Where does truth lie?
What I do know, is that I have lived out versions of myself ~ daughter… the one who could never get it right. The one who was misunderstood, and eventually cast out. Partner, wife ~ the Proverbs 31 woman… the one who never felt good enough, and who was also, eventually, cast away.
Write from the heart, not the head. I wonder how it would be if I went to the sentient beings and asked them who I am. But then, that makes me think that this may be just another form of outsourcing the task to an authority outside of myself. Nature doesn’t do this… look outside itself for validation. It just goes about emerging and growing and becoming. Is it ever possible to pull back the layers and find the true kernel of self inside?
How do I bring that which has lain dormant and buried under layers of rubble out into the light? What might it be like for me to stand in ‘her’ presence? She learnt throughout her life that somehow, she was difficult and trouble. The key to the truth of who she is was always outside of her, and now, the key transfers to her own hands.
I need to listen, listen deeply to the unadulterated, unedited voice that is me. Is it ever possible to be fully free of those other voices? I must learn how to put the stethoscope to my own heart, and hear the beat of my own drum.
This writing business. My writing seems to go around in circles. I wonder how I might begin to write more from an imaginary place?
Ah! The Flame. The flame that burns and flickers deep inside of me. The flame that exists in a cave at the end of a long dark tunnel. I put her there. I sent her into exile because it wasn’t safe for her to exist.
She is The Flame. I am The Flame. Just like how Vasilisa had to go on a journey to get the flame to bring light back to her household, I must go towards the flame .. the flame that sits deep inside of my being. I will listen to the voice of the flame and let ‘her’ know it is time to emerge, to bring the flame out of its hiding place.
© Jennie Gill
4 July 2026.
Written at the Te Wahi Ora Women’s Writing Weekend
