I hosted a month-long writers gathering with Sapelo Square in August. The theme was, “Writing as a Practice of Liberation.” I chose that theme because of how fear holds so many of us back in our writing. Fear of being vulnerable, fear of what people will think of us, fear of criticism – of our perspective and our skills, fear that tells us it is better for someone else, someone with more knowledge or a bigger field of influence, to write what we are burning to write. How often do we say, ‘Someone needs to write about…’ when that someone should be us?
Every week we had a topic and selected readings, with an affirmation of what we are free to write about; the first being that we are free to write without fear, then we moved on to discuss the challenges of writing about pain, joy, and love.
Though the space was offered for anyone who wanted to join, it was filled by Black and brown Muslim women. A beautiful vulnerability bloomed in our women-only space. Talking about joy brought tears, exploring pain brought cleansing laughter.
I knew I would close off our gathering with an exploration of love. I’ve been reading bell hooks’ All About Love for several months now.
I’ve been taking my time, pausing after each chapter and returning to underlined passages. It’s also taken me some time because I keep stopping to have imaginary conversations (arguments) with hooks.
“No, no, Ms. hooks, it was love. Yes, I was hurt, I was neglected, okay, it was often one-sided affection, but it was love, it was!”
It wasn’t. I wish someone had told me a long time ago that being cared for is not the same as being loved, that love is shown through action, not statements, that ‘I love you’ means nothing if the recipient of that statement doesn’t feel loved. I wish someone had told me that I have agency, that I choose to love others and to be loved, that I have to work at being loving. I wish someone had told me that our greatest loves aren’t romantic, that cherishing and nurturing love for family, friends, and community members gives us the qualities to build love with our romantic partners. If I had known this a long time ago, would it have made a difference?
After reading the first chapter, where hooks explains the difference between being loving and giving care, I had a conversation with my teenage son. I recognized that though I had cared for him every day of his life, there were times when I had not been loving to him and I apologized and promised to do better. I’ve shared what I learned with my husband and it has improved our relationship as well. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference if I had been told these things at a younger age, but I know them now and they are making a difference.
At our gathering, discussing hooks’ idea of choosing to love, one of the participants shared that as spiritual beings, when we consider God’s love and how He teaches us through tough life experiences, we come to understand that love doesn’t always feel good. It’s like the difference between happiness and joy. Happy moments are wonderful, but fleeting. Joy is precious and long-lasting because we have to earn it. It requires patience and fortitude. To give an example, paraphrasing from the only parenting book I ever read and liked, motherhood is a joyful experience, but it’s not always (often?) fun.
Love, when you’re in it, when you’re choosing it for the long journey, is hard sometimes. My friends and I in our 30’s and 40’s are experiencing the complexities of love as we grow into the next stages in our lives. We’re experiencing challenges in our relationships, divorces and remarriages, parenting teens, having new babies, losing loved ones and adapting to the changes in our bodies and health. There’s a look we give each other as we catalog our grievances; that wide-eyed look that says ‘this ish is hard.’
I miss my parents a lot these days. I want to ask them, was it this hard for you?, but I already know the answer. I told one of my aunts once, as a child I looked at them and thought they had it all together. She said, “Chile, no, we were figuring it out as we went.” I’m grateful to my parents and my elders for their efforts and their striving, for their love. Sometimes it didn’t feel good, the love they gave and the love they received, but they were always working at it.
I adored this essay, Ambata! I feel like I could quote nearly every section of it. If I had it printed out, I would be highlighting and underlining nearly the whole thing.
The idea of joy and happiness being different is so important. I also am reminded of two essays I've read: one called "This Stage of Life? It's hard" and another (not as related, but on the idea of parenthood in this modern world) called "It takes a village and there is no village". I may need to write a post around these.
Also, I'm going to (maybe obnoxiously and nosily) ask for more info about your writers gathering. Is it in person or virtual? I would love to know more and see if there's potential for joining the community, if that's an option.
“Love doesn’t always feel good...” bam! That went straight through the sternum for me tonight...some of the hardest times I’ve had was when I did what I knew I had to do even though it hurt people I loved. Including, I suppose, myself. But not doing it is somehow less loving. Thankyou for this much-needed reminder Ambata. I didn’t know about your course, I would love to join the next one.