Your paintings are so beautiful, Suleika. They appear so soft and gentle -yet have an evocative power. Perceived “failures” tend to be that which does not match our initial intentions. As with most aspects of life, reframing experiences (or reimagining a painting) allows a whole new vision and outlook to unfold. As we all know in this community, much of life is not Plan A. When we allow ourselves to be open to new possibilities, life and paintings are usually more rich. I once was taking a watercolor to a show when a large drop of rain landed on my painting, “ruining” it. As it was a self-portrait sort of response to my mother’s death, I realized later the raindrop enhanced it. Years later as I walked into an art gallery, I was immediately drawn to a small section of a large painting. I commented how much I loved the painting with this amazing part. The gallery owner/artist revealed she was devastated because she had dropped the canvas as she tried to hang it. She admitted that other viewers had the same reaction to her painting! I also see painting as a journey. My best paintings often follow the ones that are not so successful. I truly believe that the more successful ones would not have been produced without making the not so good ones. Perhaps, it’s about working out the kinks, growing and learning!
I am 77 and have just started to paint with watercolors.......I decided I would approach the adventure as a 7-year-old, just let it happen. It is magical and a great experience in letting go. It is a joy.
Hello Failure, my old friend...(not my words-gotta credit Simon and Garfunkel on their original work) I've failed at love yet again. My mother told me long ago, "You're just unlucky in love, Mare." She wasn't wrong. I am holding both truths in two hands, so that I don't topple over. On one side, is the "Letting Go" where I have rented a house and on the other side, knowing I have to have "The Conversation" about moving out and moving on. I am letting go, letting the water on water way of my life, take me where it will and embracing the energy of this unknown and as it dries, accepting that it is what it is. If there is Art in Failure, I am Mary Cassatt, working to place light in the darkness. (Oh, I think she worked in oils...the metaphor still stands)
Love is a weird thing, isn't it? It can be an automatic expectation in familial love, an emotion we run to and hide from. We "love to love you baby" (courtesy of the amazing Donna Summer) in that throes of erotic love, and feel somehow less than, when it flows away, - to pick up on your water metaphor. And then, there's that whole self-love thing, - which I'm finding might be my best traveling companion. Every Sunday morning, I wake up, make my coffee, settle into a cozy spot, and read Suleika's brilliant & loving words, the guest essay, and the writings of our community. I feel live I've boarded the "love train" (kudos to the O'Jays for this gem) and it is a joyous ride!
Mary, I’m hurting for you. Hurting for your heart that obviously longed for love and tried to enter into its’ magic. I, too, have believed three times that my “ I do” meant forever. What I am learning is that the only thing I truly failed at was knowing myself. For my entire life I attached the meaning of myself to my connection with others. Daughter, sister, wife, mother. At 70 I am starting from scratch. What do I love? What makes my socks go up snd down? What moves me to tears snd deep laughter? What brings me peace. I am drawn to being here, with you,
Mary, and our companions on this journey. You have a beautiful heart. You are not a failure. You are a heart, searching, longing, feeling. I send you my love.,
Okay, I'm not crying, you're crying. (Okay, it's me)Oh, my stars!!! "What I am learning is that the only thing I truly failed at was knowing myself." Me too!!! You have gifted me today (and other days too) with your deep presence, your experiences, your wisdom and also your questions. Love received and I send mine to you.
My heart goes out to you, Mary. I have been thinking of you back in teaching with your wonderful pre-schoolers and your book that is being published. I am sorry you are going through this difficult experience right now. I am sending you positive energy for strength and healing as you navigate these waters. ❤️
She also worked in watercolors, aquatints, and has always been one of my favorite artists. Her love of children, softness, gentleness, comes forth in every painting I've ever seen of hers. I agree, Mary, she was always working to replace darkness, and in her own life as well.
Thank you fur sharing this. I struggle with letting go of relationships, as painful as they might be. In the beginning the pain feels unbearable, but lessens as time goes by, and I embrace rather than dread my time alone. Dogs and art help.
Sending love as you move through this painful time, Mary. You write so beautifully about letting go and accepting what may come. There’s such grace there.
Good Sunday morning and thank you for your share today, Suleika! I, too, am excited to hear the details of your art show, my middle daughter lives in Brooklyn (not far from Prospect Park) and I am hoping to be able to see your work in person while visiting with Liana. There was a time in my life when I loved to knit. I was a mindless knitter, knitting away while daydreaming or chatting with other knitting women, or watching my children play. Once I knit a scarf for a friend. The yarn was chocolate brown with some variations, thick and soft. I kept knitting and knitting, not paying much attention to how wide and long it was! When I finally completed it, it was more like an extra wide table runner than a scarf! Sheepishly I handed my friend her gift, which she was anticipating for months. She pulled and pulled and pulled it out of the gift bag, laughing, what kind of scarf is this??!! Well, it has become her favorite comfort wrap, a lap blanket, a winter's eve shawl, even a pillow at times. Now, years have passed, and it is well worn and well loved despite its odd size, handful of reverse stitches and a few dropped stitches as well!
You are such a beacon of hope for me. I am battling ALL (waiting for a match and getting ready for terrifying transplant) and I think of you often when my anxiety goes into high gear. When I am on the Other Side, I hope to be the advocate you and John are. Watching American Symphony I wished so badly I was more creative 😂.
May your match come soon and your creativity emerge while in recovery. Pack some paper, a colouring book and a simple water colour paint set and paint for fun. You might surprise yourself . ❤️
Hoping for a match for you. Be kind to yourself..."Taming Your Anxiety" on the APP, Ten Percent Happier with Dan Harris has helped me every time my anxiety wants to take over.All good thoughts.
A few weeks ago I was performing a storytelling piece at the Magnet Theater, NYC and my mind went blank. I remember my teacher saying “ the audience doesn’t know, instead of panicking, take a few deep breaths, and the story will come to you. And it did!
This makes me think of a story in one of Tara Brach's books, about a man in her sangha who was in the throes of developing dementia. He was scheduled to give a talk to the sangha. (I see as I write the way that in this context the speaker bows, and the listeners all bow back at the outset--so perfect. Wouldn't that be a lovely practice in theater, as well, acknowledging the audience's commitment, and 'with youness'?) He began--and went up, as we say. He sat very still, as you did, and tears began to stream down his face. Presently the tears stoipped, and he continued.
Why am I crying this morning? Reading these psalms of brokenness and hope? I am weepy with wonder and blessing. How deeply our hearts feel. How hard we try to be our best selves. How tragically unforgiving we are when we fail. And yet, here we are. Leaning into the mystery, radiating vulnerability, not surrendering to despair. This human experience, tragic and beautiful, moves me so.
Suleika, your words are so encouraging. A love letter to those of us who are shadowed by the lie of perfectionism. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
For most of my adult life I have felt utterly invisible. Not seen for the heart that I know I am. I tried to be a good daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend. Tried to measure up to a standard no one can carry. What I failed at was loving myself. Now, finally, I am resting in the knowledge that I am enough. My life is a work of art. Imperfect, free, lovely. After all these years , I am embracing all the possibility of me.
This beautiful community, led by you, Suleika, Carmen and Holly, is akin to a long voyage of discovery. One where I know I am safe and I am seen.
I wish we were sitting around a table, weeping together, laughing, telling our stories, listening with open hearts to the stories of others...which is what I like to imagine here at The Isolation Journals.
What I wouldn't give! Great idea, Mary. Today, I am fantasizing about a huge party of all of us, holding each other tight, no judgement anywhere or in any form. Just unmitigated acceptance, love, basking in the light of friendship, of abundance. (deep sigh)
Mary, I wish that, as well. Deeply, so! In a way we are a family now, separated by distance, longing to be in each others company. Let us pray and hope that day might come.
Oh, I relate so much. I have recently been grappling with my belief that I need to be/act/do certain things to be loved and accepted by my family. My eyes are opened to the futility of "doing the same thing over and over and expecting certain results." I'm finding a measure of self-acceptance as I age and I'm less willing to work that hard to be loved. Take me(and you) as we come ❤️
I marvel at your courage to be so vulnerable, Jacqueline, and to risk being seen. The weird thing is that you are oh, so not alone here. I think this is a common lament many women make...we spend our lives bending to everyone's needs around us, feeling so invisible (perfect metaphor). I feel so much of the time like King Lear -- I've been estranged from my daughter for over a decade. I don't know whether she is alive, married, lying in a ditch somewhere, and I blame myself for all of it. And like Lear, I learned too late that so much of it was my doing, and feel so ashamed. And the thing is, it's too late to do anything. I wander through my own dark forest, the storm gathering around me, and just try to forgive myself as much as I can. Why is this so hard, though? If we can't forgive ourselves, how can we find any peace at all? So it's a journey, a hero's quest. Like many of you, and like many tragic heroes, I'm just trying to find my way home.
Dear Nancy, thank you for your comments and for revealing your heart. I am so sorry for the estrangement between you and your daughter, and for the questions you have no answers for. This kind of sorrow changes a person. Rearranges our understanding of the very meaning of our lives. I know this heartache well. I have not heard my daughters’ beautiful voice and deep laughter for over six years. I have asked myself if I was to blame, and though she once unloaded every assault to this mother’s heart, I refuse to be her victim. Oh, I made mistakes, some that for my own survival hurt her. I accept my responsibility there. Yet, she is her own agent. What I do know is when and if she returns to me, it will be because she has first returned to herself.
A dark forest, a dark night of the soul. Yes, but may I offer you some encouragement? Your life matters. There is a light in you that darkness can never shut out. I believe this because of all the stories I’ve heard, including our Suleika’s.
I know it is very easy to say, but with all my heart I believe you have a gift to give the world. The gift is you.
Let us walk each other home. Hand in hand across the miles, heart to heart, which neither time nor distance can diminish.
Ah, Jacqueline, such a balm are words like yours. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This quote:
"What I do know is when and if she returns to me, it will be because she has first returned to herself" is one I'll carry with me. Yes, my Jessica does need to return to herself first. Maybe that's what I meant about forgiving oneself, too -- if you can't forgive yourself, it's nearly impossible to forgive anyone else. And yes, of course, Suleika's story, so many other stories, keep me standing upright at the end of the day. You refuse to be your daughter's victim. This is my new mantra.
My youngest daughter, Rachel, died on Christmas night in 2008, and this I think was part of it. Jessica, my oldest, seemed to slowly disappear after that. When I think about it, nothing is ever just one thing, right? So much loss, so much pain, so much a heart can take even with a gigantic crack running down the center of it. It amazes me how some of us keep going in the face of such tragedies.
Today, though, I am counting myself lucky. Since you wrote to me, since I meet you here, in this space today. I think there are reasons for people meeting in the dark like this. Stories save our lives.
With deep love, affection, and a huge hug, dear lady,
I hesitate to step into this deeply personal conversation, as I’m newer here, and don’t share the history you four have in this community. Suffice it to say that, reading your conversation, I feel my heart starting to stitch together in the broken places. ♥️
Karen, I think when Suleika wrote Between Two Kingdoms, she meant for the book to bring people together. I didn't mean for anything to sound exclusionary, so your comment here really is so meaningful. Don't hesitate (smile), but join in and know that you are part of a larger community of human beings who are just trying to make sense of the broken relationships we have, the broken world we are witnessing, and the brokenness we often feel inside our deepest selves. As an aside, I only chimed in about 2 days ago, I think, and am very new myself. But I also think if you've experienced any type of trauma or loss in your life, you're already part of the "club," or community that is trying to put language around life experience that the broader culture would rather we keep silent about.
Thank you for this lovely reply, Nancy. You in no way made this thread sound exclusionary...I’m just always a bit shy, as a newer member, to dip my toe into established waters. You’ve made me feel very welcome and more at ease here.
Oh, Nancy, this sharing here, with us, strangers and yet bonded by hearts opened to each other. No "nothing is ever just one thing, is it?" I think I need to start collecting all the words of deep love and wisdom from all of us. That way, I have it to reflect on, hold to my heart, when the waters of life, are like a tsunami. "...there are reasons for people meeting in the dark like this. Stories save lives." Yes, dear, dear Nancy.
When I write a response to the Isolation Journal’s weekly prompt - I indulge myself by letting my pen and thought go and flow where it will, embarrassing myself and the reader along the page. There are so many talented writers in this group where their words paint the page with poetic perfection that I have to constantly fight through the nagging voice of failure before I can find the kinder more forgiving voice of acceptance and of letting go. This is my safe place to just try something new, to reframe failure as courage. To let the unexpected paint glob, the water soaked faded wing or my run on sentences marred by poor punctuation become part of the unfolding of the whole story. The complete picture. Where the ugly flaws become luminescent.
Thank you, Suleika, for reminding me of your dear mother’s teachings. And, of your own creative struggles. Your generosity humbles me. I am thrilled to hear of your art show. Where and when in June? I might have to book my plane ticket soon. ❤️😊❤️
A wise friend of mine calles those failures “happy accidents”. They lead you to uncharted territory, beyond what you were imagining up to that point. They’re gifts really, we just need to rewire our thinking to see them that way.
Letting go is a luxury-denied those needing a safety net or living in a racist world. "Fani Willis father told her to have six months of cash in the house".
Letting go is so difficult if you have to pay the rent. Tillie Olsen, captured this in "I Stand Here Ironing"...if is not meant to be cynical- however- it is almost the first and many are holding tight getting ready hopeful to have the rent.
This piece resonates so profoundly. My mother was a very talented watercolor artist. I am an amateur painter working with oils, which is so much more forgiving, but those ‘mistakes’ on a canvas will sometimes make me so crazy that I will worry away at them, trying to get it right- mixing another batch of color and finding that no matter how many times I go over it, it’s not going to be exact. That moment when I let go and walk away is the important part., giving me space and time to realise that those mistakes are really points of interest where grace shows up; and I can leave it, return later and feel a special connection to that piece of the process.
Your paintings are beautiful; thank you for sharing your journey with us all.
You are an artist in a multitude of ways. Your writing, your paintings, your soulful heart. Keep on keeping on, dear Suleika. Also — will you share the details of your art opening with us? I live right down the road in New Haven and will make every effort to see it!
It is so hard to let go. To trust what seems like the imperfections that guide us towards our truth. To not clean up the messes before we have gotten to where they are leading. And the jellyfish make me think of Paul Tran’s magnificent poem called Bioluminescence.❤️
Oh, thank you for your words,” to not clean up the messes before we have gotten to where they are leading”. Sometimes a light is given. Again, thank you.
I can’t begin to tell you how these “Isolation Journals” posts & gatherings impact how I navigate the world. As one who self-criticizes constantly, your messages always lift me out of my “poor me,” untalented & desperate to not feel less-than. Why your talented, beautiful self lifts me remains a mystery. I can never match all that fills you with raw beauty & incredible artistry in words or images. Maybe it’s the simplicity of you revealing your vulnerability that strikes me to “get up; try again.” In any case, thank you for your inspiration, no matter the impossible chance of ever meeting in the same physical place.
Smudges and splotches, that is where the magic lies. Your art is so beautiful, so inviting in its color and whimsy. Love it. The art of failure..well, I wouldn't have thought of it but I spent my first year in college many moons ago in the science field, why? It wasn't my passion but somehow I thought that was where I needed to aspire to as I got the grades/points to get in (Irish system). I bombed that first year, took a year out and went to Germany to work as an au pair, learned german that year so I could step right in to classes and an arts degree when I returned home, german, spanish, french studies. I had always had an interest in languages, I just needed the jolt of that first enterprise, I guess, to really spark the interest within. Went on to have a full career with international companies, working around the world, loving on different cultures and using my languages.
I loved reading both of these essays as they mirror my own experiences so clearly. Both as a musician and as a visual artist.
Art is often a happy accident. It needs to have the element of play. Of experimentation and freedom.
In reading the prompt, the first thing I thought of was my printmaking class during my Visual Art Degree. I had a moment where I realized I could be free with the paint, and it felt so liberating.
That is why I remember it so clearly 25 years later.
When we try so hard to do things "right" we lose out on the possibilities.
Your paintings are so beautiful, Suleika. They appear so soft and gentle -yet have an evocative power. Perceived “failures” tend to be that which does not match our initial intentions. As with most aspects of life, reframing experiences (or reimagining a painting) allows a whole new vision and outlook to unfold. As we all know in this community, much of life is not Plan A. When we allow ourselves to be open to new possibilities, life and paintings are usually more rich. I once was taking a watercolor to a show when a large drop of rain landed on my painting, “ruining” it. As it was a self-portrait sort of response to my mother’s death, I realized later the raindrop enhanced it. Years later as I walked into an art gallery, I was immediately drawn to a small section of a large painting. I commented how much I loved the painting with this amazing part. The gallery owner/artist revealed she was devastated because she had dropped the canvas as she tried to hang it. She admitted that other viewers had the same reaction to her painting! I also see painting as a journey. My best paintings often follow the ones that are not so successful. I truly believe that the more successful ones would not have been produced without making the not so good ones. Perhaps, it’s about working out the kinks, growing and learning!
Love your experiences here! 💙
I am 77 and have just started to paint with watercolors.......I decided I would approach the adventure as a 7-year-old, just let it happen. It is magical and a great experience in letting go. It is a joy.
How lovely. I hope you are as giddy and free as a young girl finding out she can do and be anything she wants!
More so!!!
Hello Failure, my old friend...(not my words-gotta credit Simon and Garfunkel on their original work) I've failed at love yet again. My mother told me long ago, "You're just unlucky in love, Mare." She wasn't wrong. I am holding both truths in two hands, so that I don't topple over. On one side, is the "Letting Go" where I have rented a house and on the other side, knowing I have to have "The Conversation" about moving out and moving on. I am letting go, letting the water on water way of my life, take me where it will and embracing the energy of this unknown and as it dries, accepting that it is what it is. If there is Art in Failure, I am Mary Cassatt, working to place light in the darkness. (Oh, I think she worked in oils...the metaphor still stands)
Love is a weird thing, isn't it? It can be an automatic expectation in familial love, an emotion we run to and hide from. We "love to love you baby" (courtesy of the amazing Donna Summer) in that throes of erotic love, and feel somehow less than, when it flows away, - to pick up on your water metaphor. And then, there's that whole self-love thing, - which I'm finding might be my best traveling companion. Every Sunday morning, I wake up, make my coffee, settle into a cozy spot, and read Suleika's brilliant & loving words, the guest essay, and the writings of our community. I feel live I've boarded the "love train" (kudos to the O'Jays for this gem) and it is a joyous ride!
Nancy, I do the same. Climb on to the “love train”.
Oh, The O'Jays...always loved that song. And yes, being a part of this community Pat and Nancy is such a part of my healing. Thank you!
Wherever we go, there we are! To be in love with this person, me, this body, this heart, is the work of my life. I wish you the same.
Jacqueline, oh, these dearest words words touch me so deeply. Thank you for this, "the work of my life."
Ahhh...Donna Summer (a personal favorite) and also "yes" to "that whole self-love thing." Thank you, Nancy. Yes, love is weird!!!
Mary, I’m hurting for you. Hurting for your heart that obviously longed for love and tried to enter into its’ magic. I, too, have believed three times that my “ I do” meant forever. What I am learning is that the only thing I truly failed at was knowing myself. For my entire life I attached the meaning of myself to my connection with others. Daughter, sister, wife, mother. At 70 I am starting from scratch. What do I love? What makes my socks go up snd down? What moves me to tears snd deep laughter? What brings me peace. I am drawn to being here, with you,
Mary, and our companions on this journey. You have a beautiful heart. You are not a failure. You are a heart, searching, longing, feeling. I send you my love.,
Okay, I'm not crying, you're crying. (Okay, it's me)Oh, my stars!!! "What I am learning is that the only thing I truly failed at was knowing myself." Me too!!! You have gifted me today (and other days too) with your deep presence, your experiences, your wisdom and also your questions. Love received and I send mine to you.
❤️
What makes my socks go up snd down? Love this.
My heart goes out to you, Mary. I have been thinking of you back in teaching with your wonderful pre-schoolers and your book that is being published. I am sorry you are going through this difficult experience right now. I am sending you positive energy for strength and healing as you navigate these waters. ❤️
Thank you so very much, Nancy. Positive energy and healing, received and so appreciated.
She also worked in watercolors, aquatints, and has always been one of my favorite artists. Her love of children, softness, gentleness, comes forth in every painting I've ever seen of hers. I agree, Mary, she was always working to replace darkness, and in her own life as well.
Thank you fur sharing this. I struggle with letting go of relationships, as painful as they might be. In the beginning the pain feels unbearable, but lessens as time goes by, and I embrace rather than dread my time alone. Dogs and art help.
Sending love as you move through this painful time, Mary. You write so beautifully about letting go and accepting what may come. There’s such grace there.
Good Sunday morning and thank you for your share today, Suleika! I, too, am excited to hear the details of your art show, my middle daughter lives in Brooklyn (not far from Prospect Park) and I am hoping to be able to see your work in person while visiting with Liana. There was a time in my life when I loved to knit. I was a mindless knitter, knitting away while daydreaming or chatting with other knitting women, or watching my children play. Once I knit a scarf for a friend. The yarn was chocolate brown with some variations, thick and soft. I kept knitting and knitting, not paying much attention to how wide and long it was! When I finally completed it, it was more like an extra wide table runner than a scarf! Sheepishly I handed my friend her gift, which she was anticipating for months. She pulled and pulled and pulled it out of the gift bag, laughing, what kind of scarf is this??!! Well, it has become her favorite comfort wrap, a lap blanket, a winter's eve shawl, even a pillow at times. Now, years have passed, and it is well worn and well loved despite its odd size, handful of reverse stitches and a few dropped stitches as well!
This is wonderful! 💙
Love it! Wonderful!
Love this!
You are such a beacon of hope for me. I am battling ALL (waiting for a match and getting ready for terrifying transplant) and I think of you often when my anxiety goes into high gear. When I am on the Other Side, I hope to be the advocate you and John are. Watching American Symphony I wished so badly I was more creative 😂.
May your match come soon and your creativity emerge while in recovery. Pack some paper, a colouring book and a simple water colour paint set and paint for fun. You might surprise yourself . ❤️
Thank you - I do write (my Substack is And Now We Fight). But might try the paint by numbers!
😊
Sending love 💕
I will keep you in my prayers as you await your match and prepare for your transplant, MaryBeth. ❤️
Thank you so much!
Hoping for a match for you. Be kind to yourself..."Taming Your Anxiety" on the APP, Ten Percent Happier with Dan Harris has helped me every time my anxiety wants to take over.All good thoughts.
Thank you!
All the best. Hope your transplant is a success.
Blessings Mary Beth🙏💪🏽
A few weeks ago I was performing a storytelling piece at the Magnet Theater, NYC and my mind went blank. I remember my teacher saying “ the audience doesn’t know, instead of panicking, take a few deep breaths, and the story will come to you. And it did!
This makes me think of a story in one of Tara Brach's books, about a man in her sangha who was in the throes of developing dementia. He was scheduled to give a talk to the sangha. (I see as I write the way that in this context the speaker bows, and the listeners all bow back at the outset--so perfect. Wouldn't that be a lovely practice in theater, as well, acknowledging the audience's commitment, and 'with youness'?) He began--and went up, as we say. He sat very still, as you did, and tears began to stream down his face. Presently the tears stoipped, and he continued.
It’s interesting you mention the bow because I end my story with a bow to my audience
Why am I crying this morning? Reading these psalms of brokenness and hope? I am weepy with wonder and blessing. How deeply our hearts feel. How hard we try to be our best selves. How tragically unforgiving we are when we fail. And yet, here we are. Leaning into the mystery, radiating vulnerability, not surrendering to despair. This human experience, tragic and beautiful, moves me so.
Suleika, your words are so encouraging. A love letter to those of us who are shadowed by the lie of perfectionism. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
For most of my adult life I have felt utterly invisible. Not seen for the heart that I know I am. I tried to be a good daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend. Tried to measure up to a standard no one can carry. What I failed at was loving myself. Now, finally, I am resting in the knowledge that I am enough. My life is a work of art. Imperfect, free, lovely. After all these years , I am embracing all the possibility of me.
This beautiful community, led by you, Suleika, Carmen and Holly, is akin to a long voyage of discovery. One where I know I am safe and I am seen.
I send you all my love and thanks.
I wish we were sitting around a table, weeping together, laughing, telling our stories, listening with open hearts to the stories of others...which is what I like to imagine here at The Isolation Journals.
What I wouldn't give! Great idea, Mary. Today, I am fantasizing about a huge party of all of us, holding each other tight, no judgement anywhere or in any form. Just unmitigated acceptance, love, basking in the light of friendship, of abundance. (deep sigh)
Mary, I wish that, as well. Deeply, so! In a way we are a family now, separated by distance, longing to be in each others company. Let us pray and hope that day might come.
Oh, I relate so much. I have recently been grappling with my belief that I need to be/act/do certain things to be loved and accepted by my family. My eyes are opened to the futility of "doing the same thing over and over and expecting certain results." I'm finding a measure of self-acceptance as I age and I'm less willing to work that hard to be loved. Take me(and you) as we come ❤️
Yes and I love that definition of insanity!
❤️
I marvel at your courage to be so vulnerable, Jacqueline, and to risk being seen. The weird thing is that you are oh, so not alone here. I think this is a common lament many women make...we spend our lives bending to everyone's needs around us, feeling so invisible (perfect metaphor). I feel so much of the time like King Lear -- I've been estranged from my daughter for over a decade. I don't know whether she is alive, married, lying in a ditch somewhere, and I blame myself for all of it. And like Lear, I learned too late that so much of it was my doing, and feel so ashamed. And the thing is, it's too late to do anything. I wander through my own dark forest, the storm gathering around me, and just try to forgive myself as much as I can. Why is this so hard, though? If we can't forgive ourselves, how can we find any peace at all? So it's a journey, a hero's quest. Like many of you, and like many tragic heroes, I'm just trying to find my way home.
Dear Nancy, thank you for your comments and for revealing your heart. I am so sorry for the estrangement between you and your daughter, and for the questions you have no answers for. This kind of sorrow changes a person. Rearranges our understanding of the very meaning of our lives. I know this heartache well. I have not heard my daughters’ beautiful voice and deep laughter for over six years. I have asked myself if I was to blame, and though she once unloaded every assault to this mother’s heart, I refuse to be her victim. Oh, I made mistakes, some that for my own survival hurt her. I accept my responsibility there. Yet, she is her own agent. What I do know is when and if she returns to me, it will be because she has first returned to herself.
A dark forest, a dark night of the soul. Yes, but may I offer you some encouragement? Your life matters. There is a light in you that darkness can never shut out. I believe this because of all the stories I’ve heard, including our Suleika’s.
I know it is very easy to say, but with all my heart I believe you have a gift to give the world. The gift is you.
Let us walk each other home. Hand in hand across the miles, heart to heart, which neither time nor distance can diminish.
With deep love and affection, Jacqueline
Ah, Jacqueline, such a balm are words like yours. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This quote:
"What I do know is when and if she returns to me, it will be because she has first returned to herself" is one I'll carry with me. Yes, my Jessica does need to return to herself first. Maybe that's what I meant about forgiving oneself, too -- if you can't forgive yourself, it's nearly impossible to forgive anyone else. And yes, of course, Suleika's story, so many other stories, keep me standing upright at the end of the day. You refuse to be your daughter's victim. This is my new mantra.
My youngest daughter, Rachel, died on Christmas night in 2008, and this I think was part of it. Jessica, my oldest, seemed to slowly disappear after that. When I think about it, nothing is ever just one thing, right? So much loss, so much pain, so much a heart can take even with a gigantic crack running down the center of it. It amazes me how some of us keep going in the face of such tragedies.
Today, though, I am counting myself lucky. Since you wrote to me, since I meet you here, in this space today. I think there are reasons for people meeting in the dark like this. Stories save our lives.
With deep love, affection, and a huge hug, dear lady,
Nancy
I hesitate to step into this deeply personal conversation, as I’m newer here, and don’t share the history you four have in this community. Suffice it to say that, reading your conversation, I feel my heart starting to stitch together in the broken places. ♥️
Karen, I think when Suleika wrote Between Two Kingdoms, she meant for the book to bring people together. I didn't mean for anything to sound exclusionary, so your comment here really is so meaningful. Don't hesitate (smile), but join in and know that you are part of a larger community of human beings who are just trying to make sense of the broken relationships we have, the broken world we are witnessing, and the brokenness we often feel inside our deepest selves. As an aside, I only chimed in about 2 days ago, I think, and am very new myself. But I also think if you've experienced any type of trauma or loss in your life, you're already part of the "club," or community that is trying to put language around life experience that the broader culture would rather we keep silent about.
Thank you for this lovely reply, Nancy. You in no way made this thread sound exclusionary...I’m just always a bit shy, as a newer member, to dip my toe into established waters. You’ve made me feel very welcome and more at ease here.
Oh, Nancy, this sharing here, with us, strangers and yet bonded by hearts opened to each other. No "nothing is ever just one thing, is it?" I think I need to start collecting all the words of deep love and wisdom from all of us. That way, I have it to reflect on, hold to my heart, when the waters of life, are like a tsunami. "...there are reasons for people meeting in the dark like this. Stories save lives." Yes, dear, dear Nancy.
So, so light giving!!!
This resonates deeply with me.
When I write a response to the Isolation Journal’s weekly prompt - I indulge myself by letting my pen and thought go and flow where it will, embarrassing myself and the reader along the page. There are so many talented writers in this group where their words paint the page with poetic perfection that I have to constantly fight through the nagging voice of failure before I can find the kinder more forgiving voice of acceptance and of letting go. This is my safe place to just try something new, to reframe failure as courage. To let the unexpected paint glob, the water soaked faded wing or my run on sentences marred by poor punctuation become part of the unfolding of the whole story. The complete picture. Where the ugly flaws become luminescent.
Thank you, Suleika, for reminding me of your dear mother’s teachings. And, of your own creative struggles. Your generosity humbles me. I am thrilled to hear of your art show. Where and when in June? I might have to book my plane ticket soon. ❤️😊❤️
It’s interesting how we view ourselves, as to how others view us. I always see your writing as sophisticated and eloquent, Pat. ❤️
Thank you for viewing me that way, Susan. ❤️
A wise friend of mine calles those failures “happy accidents”. They lead you to uncharted territory, beyond what you were imagining up to that point. They’re gifts really, we just need to rewire our thinking to see them that way.
Yes, rewire our thinking!
Letting go is a luxury-denied those needing a safety net or living in a racist world. "Fani Willis father told her to have six months of cash in the house".
Letting go is so difficult if you have to pay the rent. Tillie Olsen, captured this in "I Stand Here Ironing"...if is not meant to be cynical- however- it is almost the first and many are holding tight getting ready hopeful to have the rent.
Thank you for this reminder.
This piece resonates so profoundly. My mother was a very talented watercolor artist. I am an amateur painter working with oils, which is so much more forgiving, but those ‘mistakes’ on a canvas will sometimes make me so crazy that I will worry away at them, trying to get it right- mixing another batch of color and finding that no matter how many times I go over it, it’s not going to be exact. That moment when I let go and walk away is the important part., giving me space and time to realise that those mistakes are really points of interest where grace shows up; and I can leave it, return later and feel a special connection to that piece of the process.
Your paintings are beautiful; thank you for sharing your journey with us all.
The moments in which we let go and walk away are so liberating!
You are an artist in a multitude of ways. Your writing, your paintings, your soulful heart. Keep on keeping on, dear Suleika. Also — will you share the details of your art opening with us? I live right down the road in New Haven and will make every effort to see it!
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We can bring isolation journal tote bag so we see each other at the exhibit!
Yes! I want to be there and share this experience with the community.
Great idea! I have a tote bag.
If I lived near the exhibit, I would bring my tote bag & look for others as well! Great idea!
Sounds like the makings of an Isolation Journals Family Reunion!
It is so hard to let go. To trust what seems like the imperfections that guide us towards our truth. To not clean up the messes before we have gotten to where they are leading. And the jellyfish make me think of Paul Tran’s magnificent poem called Bioluminescence.❤️
Oh, thank you for your words,” to not clean up the messes before we have gotten to where they are leading”. Sometimes a light is given. Again, thank you.
Alyson, "it is so hard to let go." For me also. I will have to look up that poem. Thank you for that.
You are so welcome Mary
I can’t begin to tell you how these “Isolation Journals” posts & gatherings impact how I navigate the world. As one who self-criticizes constantly, your messages always lift me out of my “poor me,” untalented & desperate to not feel less-than. Why your talented, beautiful self lifts me remains a mystery. I can never match all that fills you with raw beauty & incredible artistry in words or images. Maybe it’s the simplicity of you revealing your vulnerability that strikes me to “get up; try again.” In any case, thank you for your inspiration, no matter the impossible chance of ever meeting in the same physical place.
Hard as it is to remember, when in the presence of mastery and talent, is that we can all be the inspiration to someone.
Smudges and splotches, that is where the magic lies. Your art is so beautiful, so inviting in its color and whimsy. Love it. The art of failure..well, I wouldn't have thought of it but I spent my first year in college many moons ago in the science field, why? It wasn't my passion but somehow I thought that was where I needed to aspire to as I got the grades/points to get in (Irish system). I bombed that first year, took a year out and went to Germany to work as an au pair, learned german that year so I could step right in to classes and an arts degree when I returned home, german, spanish, french studies. I had always had an interest in languages, I just needed the jolt of that first enterprise, I guess, to really spark the interest within. Went on to have a full career with international companies, working around the world, loving on different cultures and using my languages.
I loved reading both of these essays as they mirror my own experiences so clearly. Both as a musician and as a visual artist.
Art is often a happy accident. It needs to have the element of play. Of experimentation and freedom.
In reading the prompt, the first thing I thought of was my printmaking class during my Visual Art Degree. I had a moment where I realized I could be free with the paint, and it felt so liberating.
That is why I remember it so clearly 25 years later.
When we try so hard to do things "right" we lose out on the possibilities.
Sometimes it's just hard to surrender.
Thanks for both of these. I really loved them!