Wild Women Writers Workshop
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To The Woman I Was…
Mama, things are gonna be alright. But first they are gonna be really hard. And then they are gonna get harder. And then good again for a time. But they’re never gonna stay the same. So you can stop trying to make them. You can’t stop winter following fall. The fault lines on your forehead will always find their way to settling. Shooting them up with something only distances you further from the truth of what is. Which only causes pain. Running from what is, dear heart. That you must stop. And you will. Even though right now you run. It’s ok. You’ll find your way. There’s more to this life than staying small. There’s more to this life than perfect skin. Impressing your friends with your tricks. And funny anecdotes over fishbowls of wine chasing two-year-olds with Cheeto dust fingers around the house. There’s more to life than a six-pack. Stomach or beer. Your worth goes deeper than the skin wrapped tight around the bones of your face. Which you for some reason hate anyway. You’re more than that, and you know it, and it terrifies you. So you drink. And you pill. And you swallow the fear of becoming what you know you must. And babe, you will eventually. Trust that. You’re right where you need to be. I just wish I could take away the pain of not knowing. Of trying to be something you’re not. Of trying to be the perfect wife or mother or daughter. Which you damn well know you’ll never be. At least not according to the laws laid out by the people you believe should be allowed to deem the things so. Those wisps of poetry, those leaves that dance around your head when you pass tall grass or get lost in the way a storm bends the oak trees toward its center, those words you refuse to draw down from the Source that bestows them, just know they will save you one day. Not today. Not tomorrow. But one day. One day, they will matter. One day, you will not worry so much about how you look, because you will be too busy paying attention. Trying not to miss the things that matter. This will be what makes you matter more to yourself. It is in the paying attention, full-bodied, like you used to like your wine, that you are saved. And you help save others. You will write yourself alive again. One day, my love. Not today, but one day. I love you. And I’ll be there when you wake.
🐍 Finding Your Voice, learning to take down Your Truth, is how we alchemize experience into new waves of depth and meaning. This is what saved my life. And this is why I’m teaching this workshop.
The Wild Women Writers Workshop meets every Monday night from 7:30-8:30 pm CST on Zoom for a total of 6 weeks starting November 6!
Each session will begin with an energy-clearing ritual followed by an introduction to the week’s lesson or skill. Before diving into the writing prompts ✨We will write together for two rounds of 10 minutes and spend the last 20 minutes sharing our experiences and writings and receiving positive feedback from the group!
At the end of the six week period, you will have a “Substack Starter,” or a focused body of work to start your very own Substack blog and share the medicine of your writing with the world in a voice that is true and unique to YOU ✨
Writing has been so incredibly vital in my recovery from alcohol, stimulants, perfectionism, and eating disorders. It has helped me alchemize the medicinal properties of my personal experience into healing balms that help other women heal themselves.
The magic of this workshop is in the accountability, support, and structure it provides. By the time it’s over, you will have a collection of authentic, creative work you can be proud of, a series of simple strategies for writing every day and loving it, and a cohort of wild warrior women by your side!