Create From Pain
Standing atop my 25th-floor balcony, I stood looking out over a city I wished would excite me as much as it did in my mind before I arrived. It’s not that I didn’t like my new city, but of course, reality often differs from our imagination. More than halfway through my first pregnancy, I looked through the glass door not knowing how I made it this far and how much longer I had to go.
“I feel like I’m inside a snow globe,” I told my husband.
“I can see the world outside but I feel so far away from the world. It’s all passing me by,” I said.
Looking back, I feel my inner self-critic creeping its head making me think I was just being ungrateful and seeing the glass as half empty but my self-compassion kicks in and says, “No, it was hard. You were lonely. It’s okay to feel it, to name it.”
I had come into marriage from a home and place I adored and that adored me. I know that because I felt it to my very core. My family, friends, community, and work anchored me and made me feel like I mattered. The love and connection I felt for 26 years gave me relevance, love, importance, belonging, and security in myself. Having a nice mix of letters after my name stroked my desire for validation in the world. Getting lattes before going to teach Sunday school was my way of belonging to myself. Having my parents and sisters jovially call out my quirks, like how I have an impossibly difficult time putting a full potato into a stew or a complete can of beans into my chilli, was mong the most cathartic part of my weeks. I was seen and known.
My snow globe was my reality and I had to find a way to embrace it. But instead, I numbed my loneliness through a steady rotation of Gilmore Girls and Downtown Abbey. I didn’t pick up phone calls. I journaled. I prayed. I cried. And because my hyperemesis made everything worse, I walked around my apartment with a bucket for any sudden queasiness, the entirety of my pregnancy. There wasn’t a single day I didn’t need that bucket.
The only thing that made me feel close to myself was my green embossed journal gifted to me at my Walima by my dear friend. I didn’t need to hold back as I scribbled my deepest thoughts, longings, and all that I missed from a life that felt like a fleeting memory. Was I ever going to feel like myself again? Did my best days already pass me by? Was I ready for so much, so soon? I didn’t know how to answer any of these but I scribbled by day and by night, looking for the answers.
What started out as morning pages, suddenly started shifting into ideas, du’as, hopes, and honest imaginations inspired by the lovely prompts in The Sound of Paper. My long-hand writings started condensing themselves into lists and then, into budding ideas, like trees made out of words. These mind-maps gave me hope, a lifeline when all I could focus on was the physical exhaustion of my pregnancy.
Never could I have imagined becoming a first-time mother and launching a product and reaching hearts and homes around the world, had it not been for that simple green journal. Each list I made brought me closer to envisioning a sense of thrill and excitement, as I wedged my creativity out from the intersection of loneliness and desperation. I needed to know I could still do the things that sparked joy. And with Allahs’ help and my husbands’ unwavering support, I did.
It was as if Allah (swa) sent me a rope and helped me pull myself up by finding my way through journaling about the hard stuff until I could get to the good stuff – embracing my gifts again and being right where I was without sinking into a nostalgic cage. He (swa) showed me I mattered not only in relation to those who adored me and made me feel seen. I mattered because He sees me. He planted me in this snow globe so I could experience an unforgettable winter, followed by an extraordinary spring.
Writing Prompts // Reflection
Frustration and pain are an unavoidable part of life but as Mateja Klaric says, “As much as we hate it, pain can be an incredible motivator. Art, for instance, is something that is often inspired by profound and deep suffering and some of the best works in history were created because of it.”
What experiences have you gone through that lend themselves to helping you heal with art, writing, and creativity?
When have you felt even the slightest spark of creativity inspired by pain in life?
Looking pack at the pain you experienced, how can you view the hardship with a generous spirit to appreciate the growth that followed?
