Making Space

Friends are important.

We all have different groups of friends. I have work buddies who have become come over to our house and share food buddies. There are my long term friends, some of whom have become my stretching buddies. And there are my writer friends.

This isn’t about making space for friends. This is about how those friends of mine are helping me to hold open certain spaces, to not become discouraged, and to keep going. These are friends who celebrate me, laugh at me (when needed), and laugh with me.

But first, NEWS!

I have been longlisted for the Liquid Amber Poetry Prize. Fifty-five poems are on that list, and one of them is mine. My poem, ‘Dissociation’, fully deserves this recognition.

When writing this poem, a metaphor using graphic murder and identity theft to represent what a dissociated state is like, I grappled with the perspective. Third person, second person, first person? All seemed to work. There were some words which were different, to accommodate the different point of view, but mostly the poem read as a repetition of thought. I submitted it to my first reader, my supervisor.

Discussing the poem over Zoom, we spoke at the same time—why not all three?

I reworked the poem so that it read as a repetition in three stanzas, the only difference being the point of view. This took focus. Finding phrases that accommodate a switch in perspective without changing the sentence structure requires crafting.

The poem itself is the one that seems to resonate with the reader. The progression from third person through to first person, along with the building repetition, lands on the final line (already read twice) with a great deal of force. It seems that many people have felt this imposter syndrome and the violence it can do to the true self.

I view this poem as separate to me. It stands strong and I suspect it will endure as it captures a repetition in our lives:

We murder the true self in order to live the life of the false self.

What space am I making?

This week I stood on the outside of the shower curtain and lifted the knife. Before I could attack my vulnerable self a hand caught my wrist. Several hands, truth be known.

Hubby reminded me, when a long term friend turned away from me, to ‘Let it go. She has made her choice.’ My stretching friends, on a day when I felt deeply hurt by a public accusation, firmly told me ‘you need stretching class tonight’. I went and felt better. Food sharing friend sat in on a ‘please explain’ meeting. I felt safe and stood my ground.

My writer friends celebrated my latest publication and wished me luck with the shortlist. They reminded me to ‘create space, be who you are, write’.

It hit home. There it was. The repeated final line of a poem I have lived over and over.

With the troubles that come and go in life, I have started asking myself ‘do I have space in my life for you?’.

I am practicing letting go of those things I don’t have space for. People. Drama. Self-doubt.

I know what it is like to hide myself away, to pretend in order to keep other people happy, to tiptoe around the bully, to indulge the self-involved, to obey institutions, to have the arrogant feel they know best.

Not any more.