Redefining…me?
On a rainy morning in the central Minnesota woods, I was tucked under a quilt in our motor home, reading one of my creative fiction writing books. A writing exercise at the end of a chapter asked me to write a paragraph about something from the perspective of a character completely the opposite of me. For example, a religious person writing as a prostitute. A person who follows the rules portrays an anarchist. An extrovert describes the details of the paragraph as a person with social anxiety.
Each word seemed to blast through bits of myself, uncovering hidden caves. It was one of the most enlightening and surprising processes I had ever encountered.
This was the conception of my Merry Band of Mad Folk. Taking that writing exercise and broadening it from thinking in opposites to including many shades of gray, I began to see the insightful effect of capturing my inner shadow selves and giving them distinctive voices. Vulnerable parts of me, potentially addictive parts of me, and definitely my ego self vied for attention all day long. The conscious effect for me was indecision, resistance, living in a state of "if only", and myriad other nuanced imbalances.
Samantha is one of them, and competes for attention with the likes of Whitaker, in charge of logistics and keeping everything in good working order, Phyllis, my superhero, and Meg, my conformist. Only a very few have I been able to capture in any sort of visual form. I was delighted to discover Commander Winifred in a large metal canister filled with vintage dolls from around the world, given to my mother as a child. This tiny gem dressed in black was reborn, decades and decades later, as one of my Merry Band of Mad Folk. Jeremiah, my monk, has been a gentle guiding light for me in more recent years, advocating my commitment to live a quiet, disciplined, compassionate lifestyle to keep everyone in the household calm and balanced.
Humor has been an essential ingredient to tantalize and court parts of me very resistant to this process.
I had no idea a writing exercise undertaken in the silence of a Minnesota woods would ultimately become a therapeutic tool. And the only reason it wove its way into my friends and trusted co-workers is because I opened my mouth and mentioned it.
What I like most about this process is that it is infectious. I only get through a few sentences about how fascinating, fun and helpful it is for me when I am cut off by the listener. With a furled brow, and a gaze suddenly drifting off into the distance, I see it happening..."I wonder if I have voices in MY head?" (of course they do, we all do...it is part of being a human). I can hear it even though no words have been uttered. From there, depending upon who they are, they either eagerly start asking me questions about how can they, too, can do this, or they walk away with words to this effect, "That's...um...interesting (??)...Leslie...but not anything I could do."
Either way, it evokes a strong reaction. And it is a tremendous conversational gauge to give me information as to whether this process is something that can be integrated or not. Full disclosure, I do not walk up to a person upon first meeting, introduce myself as Leslie and add, "Would you like to meet the other 13 parts of me?" No, this is a subtle facet of relationship, only able to be conceived and incubated in trusted, safe relational spaces. But it helps me create my own boundaries around how much of myself I bring to the relationship so it is balanced for both of us.
And the part I like best, is sometimes, upon rare occasion, it begins as a rebuke, but then later, as the friendship deepens and the walls begin to drop as trust is developed, it resurfaces and begins to take hold. At that point, there is no turning back. We ... are...getting to know each other!
Choris of Voices: A Gallery of Rogues
