I used to be terrified of sharing my writing with anyone. I used to write all the time, but entirely secretly. I couldn’t even write in the same room as someone else. I winced at the thought of someone coming up behind me and reading a single word.
I was afraid that if anybody caught a glimpse into my unfiltered thoughts, they would discover that not only was I a terrible writer but also a terrible person. Huge scaredy-cat vibes. (I think this has a lot to do with patriarchy, but I’ll get to that another time).
Honestly, most of what I wrote was more dull than disturbing: bleating about how much snot I had up my nose that day and how much lint was in my navel. Boring. I was frustrated as hell because I had this secret dream of being a poet, but I was ashamed of nearly everything that came out of me.
I felt like some essential parts of myself were curled up inside, letting out these feeble little peeps onto a page. I desperately wanted to give those parts space to move and grow but I had no idea how.
You’re probably waiting for me to tell you how I got past my fear, but the truth is I’m still scared: scared to write stuff down, scared to share it.
But I did have a moment that changed things for me. It happened about 11 years ago when I was sitting out the front of my flat in Grey Lynn. My flatmate came home with a book about songwriting and he suggested that we do some writing together. Like I said, I was scared of writing with other people, but I was so sick of myself that I decided to give it a try.
The book suggested putting on a timer for a few minutes, starting with a word and just writing whatever came out. Edgy, but OK. But then we decided to raise the stakes and agreed that we were going to read aloud whatever we wrote. Eek. He was someone I trusted and wanted to connect with, so I said yes.
We both wrote the word ‘hair’ at the top of our page, put the timer on for four minutes and started writing. I had an experience that I hadn’t had before: there was energy in my words. I wasn’t just driveling around in my own circular thought patterns like before. It felt like there was something that wanted to come through me, and it was coming.
Before that, I’d been so afraid of sharing my writing if it was not ‘good’ because I feared that I’d be rejected. But now in a moment of giddy abandon, I had decided to share some writing whether it was good or not. And words arrived which actually communicated something.
I was no longer just writing to myself — I was writing to connect with my friend. The possibility of being known meant that more interesting words arrived, because the jeopardy/excitement of revealing myself was energising.
That piece of writing became the first poem I ever got published. (It eventually ended up here in Best New Zealand Poems).
Since then I have been a student of the creative process. I studied creative writing, got a Masters Degree in Arts Therapy, trained as an Open Floor movement teacher, published my first book of poetry and have led hundreds of people through workshops and classes on creative practice. I’ve learned a bunch more tools about how to get unstuck.
But there was an essential piece of learning that happened on that porch that I’ve carried with me: the extraordinary value of a trusted witness. Being accompanied by someone who you feel safe enough to be real with, and who will actively receive whatever it is that you are creating: this can sometimes change everything.
If you are struggling in your art practice, it can be so easy to think it’s because of a personal lack. Instead, I encourage you to look at the people in your life, asking:
To what extent do I have relationships with people who are genuinely interested in what I am creating, and will keep showing up for me whatever comes out?
Do I have people around me who I feel safe enough to play with?
How might I cultivate more of this?
Relationships that support radical honesty and risk-taking are what we need as artists, and the world desperately needs our creativity right now.
More soon,
xo Rata
P.S. If you are a poetry-curious person, or are struggling with ye olde ‘bored-with-myself-scaredy-cat’ situation, make sure you get yourself signed up to Path of the Poetic Heart which is my 10 week online writing course. It will help you shift the pattern. We start in March 2024!
P.P.S. If you are in Melbourne or surrounds, come and find me at ‘Dance in the Wild’ which is a wonderful little dance festival happening 8th-11th March in Gembrook. I’ll be teaching a writing workshop there.
Thank you Rata for your honest and useful sharing 👍 yes understand the ‘feeling’ . One day it will be different in bravery.
I have found myself more likely to read my poetry at an open mic in front of a bar full of people I don't know, rather than face the risk of reading it to someone I care about... The fear of finding out the person you're sharing it with doesn't get that part of you is terrifying.