The Unexpected Gifts I Gained from Joining a Writing Group

(truly, not the ones you’d expect)

I entered college planning on being an English major with a focus on writing, and I graduated four years later with a degree in psychology. My inner critic got the best of me and I put away the dream I’d had since I was a young girl. Instead, I went on to pursue a career in education and writing became my secret hobby.

I kept many notebooks and journals where I’d record my thoughts; some pages were filled with rants and rambling observations, others with starts of stories and occasionally a poem or two. I did not share these pages with anyone and I doubt many of my friends even knew how much time I spent on my writing.

As a teacher however, I was known for having the writing classroom. It was my hope that all of my students would become successful at expressing themselves in writing and hopefully discover the satisfaction of sharing ideas through words. Every student in my class practiced writing across all curriculum areas, kept reading journals and were encouraged to publish their own books, which were then added to our library nook.

Over the years, I’ve occasionally gone to local writing conferences, wondering, if perhaps, it wasn’t too late for me. Once or twice, I signed up for editor critiques, my heart pounding as I waited for their feedback. Yet even those positive experiences weren’t enough to silence my self doubts and lead me to do anything more with my writing.That is, until a series of life forces collided.

My mother passed away very unexpectedly and then two months later we went into the pandemic quarantine. A few months after that, both of my children went back to college, making me an empty nester. Suddenly something clicked inside of me; it was time for me to embrace what I loved.

I took my journals out of their hiding place and placed them out in the open, on a shelf in my office area where I could see them. I started signing up for online writing workshops that met online for two to three hours at a time. Some were open ended, where we’d be given a prompt, time to write and then people would share. Other workshops were based on a genre such as journaling, memoir writing, creative nonfiction.

I still can’t pin point why then, but one day, I found myself volunteering to share. And a remarkable thing happened; no one laughed, no one made faces or left the group. Other participants actually said nice things about my work. I didn’t stop breathing or crumble or all of the other things I had always thought might happen if I shared my writing.

Then, a spot opened up in a writing group, a group that met three hours every Friday. This was a real group, with talented writers who took their work seriously. The expectation was that everyone would share and provide feedback to each other. A little nervous, I took that open spot and figured it was only for a few weeks and then I’d slink back out into my private writing world.

Six months later, I can’t imagine my week without my writing group. Yes, I’m getting helpful feedback about my work and I am growing as a writer, learning from everyone else. But those aren’t the real gifts I receive from being in this group.The true gifts I gained are courage, me time, openness and self-acceptance.

Courage

This group has given me courage to not only believe I have something worth saying, but also the courage to take those first steps and share my words. After my first few articles were published on Medium, I was honestly waiting for someone to cancel my account. Instead, strangers, who aren’t obligated in any way to compliment me, clapped and followed me. When my daughter shared a link to a story I wrote onto her social media page, my secret hobby was no longer a secret. And I realized that I’m ok with that.

Me Time

For years I prioritized being a mother (and no, I would not change that!) and my career over thinking about me. By carving out these three hours each week, it’s reminded me how important I am. Each Friday morning, I close my door, I don’t answer my phone and it’s my time. Sometimes, I don’t even come out right away at the end of group time. Sometimes, I keep on writing and finishing where I was heading, and that’s ok.

Those three hours have expanded now to other times throughout the week, time I carve out for me. I used to crave alone time because I was hiding. Now I crave my alone time because I have so much want to do with it.

Openness

My mind is freer, open to new possibilities and ideas. Putting my creativity in the hands of whatever prompt the facilitator has chosen for us, has taken me in directions I never thought possible. Thoughts and memories pop up and I find myself exploring where they take me. Rather than shying away from unresolved conflict and painful memories, I’m open to exploring them, seeking out clarity, understanding and in some instances, closure.

Self- Acceptance

For years, I’ve been comparing myself to others, allowing my insecurities to rise to the top. It wasn’t just my writing style I’d compare to others, it was also my appearance, my life choices, literally all of me. Yet as I’ve found my voice over these past months, I’ve learned to embrace who I am, to own my choices and to like myself. I feel happy and fulfilled in a way I haven’t in years.

Last week, the facilitator of my Friday morning group mentioned that with vaccines becoming readily available, she’s optimistic that they’ll be able to reopen their studio either this summer or in the fall. Everyone else in the group looked excited about that possibility, looking forward to the in person contact again.

On the other hand, this was not necessarily good news for me. I have no attachment to the studio, as I’ve never seen it. I joined the group while it was meeting remotely, a silver lining of this pandemic. I also happen to live almost an hour and a half away. As much as I love and value the unexpected gifts from being a part of this group, that’s quite a drive to participate in a writing group.

But I’m also not ruling it out, not quite yet.