I don’t have your gift with words, but I can read your words again and again, and feel validated. I wish I could have read them 45-50 years ago and learned that I was not the problem. I was not crazy. Your words have helped me. Thank you.
😭 Oh wow. Thank you. A box in my garage holds the pages I wrote in frustration as I lost myself in my marriage. I’ve been divorced for nearly 16 years. I have not been able to read those journals. I think I will read them now. I think the contents will strengthen my stories. My story.
Thank you, Lyz. I found and read your book (ex-wife) while re-writing some old essays from a writing class back in 2008. It was just the boost I needed to assemble them. Getting closer. But I do need to open that box to remind me (specifically) why I left it all behind. Like you, gaslighting was a big part of it. I’ve pieced myself together again but it sure took a while. Thank you so much for your voice as it is so valuable to others. 💕
After the election, I got off all news, social media, etc. for a while. It was just too painful. I’m slowly coming back, and as I do, these are the words I want to read. These are the stories. They give me hope. They are not a waste. Because without these words and these stories, what choice do I have but to despair?
Thank you for your words. Please thank your colleague for his words. And please, please keep writing. ❤️
😭❤️ Thank you, Lyz. This morning, especially, after a ridiculous debate with my partner (triggered by Taylor Swift) where I found myself defending feminism and he walked out (he's back, silent, pouty). All night and this morning, my mantra has been (will always be), I will not mute myself. Not for him. Not for anyone. Never again. If that results in a bad back from a leaky air mattress, it will still be worth it.
This essay is completely relevant now, and I suspect, always.
You speak very clearly of the phenomena of changing women's realities. It happened to me in my marriage to such a degree that was I was contemplating getting out I had to check on reality with outside others. Who we are as told by others can so easily become what we believe. So yes we must tell our own stories again and again.
And also, I am here for adrienne mareé Browne today and every day. Her words me sustenance truly every day. Thank you for including that piece.
Every time I read this story of your things being hidden, it grieves me so. So much of my motherhood story is shutting myself away and becoming an unrecognizable person. I have worked so hard to reclaim parts of myself as my boys have become teens and young adults. I face an empty nest in a couple of years, but I will be whole again.
My 73-year-old mom went through Hurrican Helene in September. She didn't have a river of water wiping everything out, but she did have no power for 11 days and no communication. Last week, she sent me a folder wherein she had written an account of every day of those 11 days. She wrote to remember. She wrote to fight the trauma (because now even a little wind during a storm has her panicked). She wrote because she went through an event. And so, her words have been entered into our family history. It was so important that her story was told, and I am grateful to receive it.
I also live in the path of Helene, and the first day my work re-opened we had power, but no internet, no internet-based phones, and no cell service. It was shockingly difficult to coordinate restarting our factory without digital communication. I started hand-writing invitations to meetings and leaving them at people's desks. I hand wrote meeting notes and action plans and distributed xerox copies.
It only lasted a couple of days, but many people still have my handwritten meeting invites tacked to their bulletin boards like little mementos. They were so delighted to receive hand-written paper "mail", both as a novel concept in our modern workplace and as a lifeline of communication. It was a strange time.
I needed this today and for the next few years. It reminded me of the last chapter of “The Handmaid’s Tale,” which is a paper delivered at an academic conference for scholars of the history of Gilead, years after Gilead ceased to exist. Atwood wrote a dystopia but gave us all a little hope at the end, consisting of a discussion of the words of the Handmaid that survived. In the worst place imaginable, the words of a woman who was forbidden from having words survived.
I know that fiction is what the author wants, with no necessary relation to what is or could be in reality. We have no guarantee of success, but we also don’t have any guarantee of failure. The bad people who are in charge now rely on our despair, and the fact that we have our own and others’ stories should keep us from despair. They need our silence; we need our loud voices.
A best manifest ever. I so needed this. Thank you!
Thank you.
I don’t have your gift with words, but I can read your words again and again, and feel validated. I wish I could have read them 45-50 years ago and learned that I was not the problem. I was not crazy. Your words have helped me. Thank you.
😭 Oh wow. Thank you. A box in my garage holds the pages I wrote in frustration as I lost myself in my marriage. I’ve been divorced for nearly 16 years. I have not been able to read those journals. I think I will read them now. I think the contents will strengthen my stories. My story.
I hope you find in them any lost pieces of yourself again 💕
Thank you, Lyz. I found and read your book (ex-wife) while re-writing some old essays from a writing class back in 2008. It was just the boost I needed to assemble them. Getting closer. But I do need to open that box to remind me (specifically) why I left it all behind. Like you, gaslighting was a big part of it. I’ve pieced myself together again but it sure took a while. Thank you so much for your voice as it is so valuable to others. 💕
Yup. You write like a motherfucker. Now I feel like crying and throwing things. Again. Thank you for your words.
I feel exactly the same way.
Thank you. I needed this so much.
I loved this so much!
After the election, I got off all news, social media, etc. for a while. It was just too painful. I’m slowly coming back, and as I do, these are the words I want to read. These are the stories. They give me hope. They are not a waste. Because without these words and these stories, what choice do I have but to despair?
Thank you for your words. Please thank your colleague for his words. And please, please keep writing. ❤️
You, your voice, this cri du coeur manifesto all inspire me again and again.
Happy Thanksgiving, lyz.
😭❤️ Thank you, Lyz. This morning, especially, after a ridiculous debate with my partner (triggered by Taylor Swift) where I found myself defending feminism and he walked out (he's back, silent, pouty). All night and this morning, my mantra has been (will always be), I will not mute myself. Not for him. Not for anyone. Never again. If that results in a bad back from a leaky air mattress, it will still be worth it.
Oh that’s such a hard place to be but I am glad you are sticking up for your voice
So many stunning lines here.
"It’s hard to fight silence."
"It turns out you can live in a fiction for a long time."
"I realized that whatever story I had been living was erasing me."
"In this swamp of fear, all we have are our words."
And more...thank you so much for reposting this.
This one's a keeper for the return-to-re-read pile. Thank you for making it and re-sharing it.
I am grateful for your voice and your writing, Lyz.
This essay is completely relevant now, and I suspect, always.
You speak very clearly of the phenomena of changing women's realities. It happened to me in my marriage to such a degree that was I was contemplating getting out I had to check on reality with outside others. Who we are as told by others can so easily become what we believe. So yes we must tell our own stories again and again.
And also, I am here for adrienne mareé Browne today and every day. Her words me sustenance truly every day. Thank you for including that piece.
Every time I read this story of your things being hidden, it grieves me so. So much of my motherhood story is shutting myself away and becoming an unrecognizable person. I have worked so hard to reclaim parts of myself as my boys have become teens and young adults. I face an empty nest in a couple of years, but I will be whole again.
My 73-year-old mom went through Hurrican Helene in September. She didn't have a river of water wiping everything out, but she did have no power for 11 days and no communication. Last week, she sent me a folder wherein she had written an account of every day of those 11 days. She wrote to remember. She wrote to fight the trauma (because now even a little wind during a storm has her panicked). She wrote because she went through an event. And so, her words have been entered into our family history. It was so important that her story was told, and I am grateful to receive it.
you must be so proud of your mom. she is brave and amazing.
I also live in the path of Helene, and the first day my work re-opened we had power, but no internet, no internet-based phones, and no cell service. It was shockingly difficult to coordinate restarting our factory without digital communication. I started hand-writing invitations to meetings and leaving them at people's desks. I hand wrote meeting notes and action plans and distributed xerox copies.
It only lasted a couple of days, but many people still have my handwritten meeting invites tacked to their bulletin boards like little mementos. They were so delighted to receive hand-written paper "mail", both as a novel concept in our modern workplace and as a lifeline of communication. It was a strange time.
So good. That line—It’s hard to fight silence—YES. It is. Thank you for still writing like a mfkr.
I needed this today and for the next few years. It reminded me of the last chapter of “The Handmaid’s Tale,” which is a paper delivered at an academic conference for scholars of the history of Gilead, years after Gilead ceased to exist. Atwood wrote a dystopia but gave us all a little hope at the end, consisting of a discussion of the words of the Handmaid that survived. In the worst place imaginable, the words of a woman who was forbidden from having words survived.
I know that fiction is what the author wants, with no necessary relation to what is or could be in reality. We have no guarantee of success, but we also don’t have any guarantee of failure. The bad people who are in charge now rely on our despair, and the fact that we have our own and others’ stories should keep us from despair. They need our silence; we need our loud voices.
Shout!