THE PHOENIX STONE IS MY HEART

I began writing long before I ever truly knew what my heart was expressing. It was my favorite way to speak without ever opening my mouth, and it didn’t just start all at once.

When I was in elementary school, my parents got a divorce- a story for another day. Like most children would, my brother and I started seeing a therapist. You know the kind that would make you circle the face that most represented you or choose the word that best described your feelings. I hated it, and most importantly-

I hated those questions.

“What word BEST represents your emotions?” I don’t know. Sad. Angry. Mad. Confused. Scared. Numb. I feel everything. I feel nothing.

“How does that make you feel?” Like I am dying. Like my world is falling apart, and all I can do is watch.

The truth is I voiced none of those things. It was like I never learned how to talk. I could not speak. The only thing I could do was cry and cry and cry until the session was over. I had known what was going on around me, but I did not know what was going on inside me. It terrified me. I could never explain at that age what my heart felt like. It was just broken.

“When you’re born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it’s not.”

– Richard Kadrey

Despite the emotional turmoil pre- and post-divorce, I spent years after trying to reconcile my life that was and the one that is. My only security blanket was reading. If anyone ever needed me, I was found locked in my room with my head stuck in between pages. I loved it because I never had to open my mouth- just my eyes. I could escape from real life to be someone else far, far away from the person I was.

It became my greatest distraction all through middle and high school. If I was not reading, I was thinking. I tried to not do that much considering it led to many sleepless nights. Those nights would mainly consist of homework, tears, music, and more tears. It was during those times I began writing in between pages of my school notebooks. At first, it was the silliest things like quotes and really just whatever I was thinking at the moment.

At some point, it became more. It was not about a story in a book anymore. It was the story within me. I started keeping journals of everything. These journals contained my happiness and my sadness. I mean my deepest sorrows of my heart. My very life was kept safe in these pages stuffed between the mattress of my bed (sorry mom!). Writing became my safe haven. It was the custom design of my own world, my secret second life. I knew even from a young age that I could not control my experiences; I could control the life I made on paper.

No amount of writing will bring you back
yet here I am.
I write and write 
and write
The metaphors describe what loving you
felt like.
I have no other way to express this burning spite.

Like the ashes, I fall
I fall deeper in love
with nothing at all,
but like the phoenix, 
I rise.
I rise from my demise.
- n.h / the phoenix stone is my heart

Because of writing, I was able to heal from my traumas. I was able to enjoy life again. It controlled my need for retribution- to lash out for when and where I had felt wronged. My pen became my weapon; the paper was my target. Not once did it ever judge me for the things I ‘said.’ For the first time, I felt relief. Because of this relief, I am able to speak up. I can talk about the emotions I feel, and I can get through hard conversations without shutting down. There will always be times where I am nine years old and unable to talk again, but the best part is that I can.

I encourage all of you who have felt the silence to start writing. Write the messy stuff. As my Granna would say, “No one is grading you. It ain’t gotta be perfect.” And it does not. Write about all of your favorite things. Use what hurts your heart to create. Write about the color of the sky. Just write if you feel like you cannot talk. Because at some point, you will be able to.

I hope you learn how to rise. One day at a time. Be the phoenix. I cannot stress enough the importance of getting back up. If I never rose from all the setbacks that knocked me down, I would not be here today. It is because of these experiences, my dream is to one day write my full story. I hope it encourages you all to do the same.

As always, I hope you enjoy as you go.