By Madeleine Simmons
Contributing Columnist
Before I get into how writing is healing, I have to start with how I came to find writing healing for myself.
In 2018, I was told I had fibromyalgia by a doctor, who then proceeded to tell me there was no cure for this chronic pain condition. When asked if I was “depressed,” I answered “yes,” because I was, after hearing this news. And thus, they doled out a prescription for an antidepressant, then left. Since then, I’ve spent many hours in waiting rooms, taking blood tests, ultrasounds, MRIs. I have felt extremely lonely in my journey in the industrial medical complex, leading me to more wounds than answers.
One of many examples was a fateful day in January of 2019 when I went to pick up my new, higher dosage of antidepressants. The pharmacist (who has known me and my family for years) looked at my prescription then back at me again in disgust. She asked me, knowing full well my name was on the bag, if this was in fact my prescription: “These are for you?” Despite our years of interaction, the relationship we had became relegated to a seemingly two-dimensional and dehumanizing one as she condescendingly told me my insurance “didn’t cover this.” Instances like this are among the things that make me feel depressed: the reaction of the person giving me my antidepressants was a cause for their need.
The University of Waterloo conducted a study, which showcased that young people between the ages of 15 and 30 with chronic illnesses have a 363% increased chance of a suicide attempt. For me, this number doesn’t surprise me, as many individuals that are supposed to provide healing are often cold, condescending and indifferent.
The only way I could escape becoming a statistic was to break the silence I found myself resigned to. I found space for my voice on the page. On paper, I could take as much time as I needed, go back to edit, take breaks, laugh, cry, all without an audience. I took classes at my university as well as signed up for local workshops in my community through Inlandia Institute. From these encounters, I grew and started to heal from the wounds I had received from the ones who were supposed to be healing me.
But do we have a name for this phenomena? The closest I have found is the term, “narrative medicine.” I first heard this term used by a creative writing professor at UC Riverside, Allison Hedge Coke. Coke was heading to the medical school to teach a class on narrative medicine. I was so intrigued: “What is a creative writing professor teaching to a bunch of future doctors?” She discussed with me she was working on teaching doctors how to interact with patients through patients’ stories. From that, I became very interested in investigating “narrative medicine.” Currently, there is no one accepted definition of it, but George Zaharias in The Canadian Journal of Psychiatry breaks down the necessary components:
“The fundamental tenet of NBM [narrative based medicine] is that meaning is derived from the stories that we tell….Patients tell a story about a symptom or concern, its context, how it is affecting them, and why they came to the doctor. This is a story with infinite variations in content, the person telling it, the language used, and how it is told. It reflects the uniqueness of the patient and his or her experience. ”
While I think this is a great definition, I think there is much more to it. Such as the facilitator being a “doctor” or the patient having to be the one telling the story. An example of what I consider narrative medicine that doesn’t fit this definition is the Theater of War project.
Founded by Bryan Doerries, the project presents readings of ancient Greek plays to service members veterans, caregivers, and families to help initiate conversations about the visible and invisible wounds of war.
Despite not having a firm definition, there is plenty of evidence and personal accounts to back up the aid writing brings to one’s healing process. If you have ever gone through something painful in your life, physical or mental, I encourage you to write and share your story.
If you are not sure where to start, or how possibly you can write about traumatic experiences, I recommend reading Melanie Brooks’ book, “Writing Hard Stories: Celebrated Memoirists Who Shaped Art from Trauma.” In the book, Brooks interviews 18 authors on their process of writing hard-to-tell stories. I’d like to end on the note of another quote from Arthur Frank, from his book, “The Wounded Storyteller,” about the importance of sharing our stories:
“Those who have been objects of others’ reports are now telling their own stories. As they do so, they define the ethic of our times: an ethic of voice, affording each a right to speak her own truth, in her own words.”
Madeleine Simmons is a graduate student at Cal State San Bernardino. She received her Bachelor of Arts in English from UC Riverside and her Associate of Arts in Communications from Riverside City College. She has fibromyalgia and currently resides in her home-turned-sanctuary to five cats in Riverside.
Writing can help you heal — literally - Inland Valley Daily Bulletin
Read More
Bagikan Berita Ini
0 Response to "Writing can help you heal — literally - Inland Valley Daily Bulletin"
Post a Comment