Dear Writing Bracelet,

I know you are not much for all this seriousness, but bear with me.

I was reading a book the other day and getting excited about revisions: Blueprint Your Bestseller by Stuart Horwitz.

I came to the first action step, and in rushed anxiety.

Why? Why all this fear just thinking about doing something that once brought so much joy?

Then I realized: When I'm doing the work of a writer, I am outside my body. Writing, I'm in my head, talking to people who don't exist, working in worlds that aren't real.

Dear writing bracelet, I have spent the last 12 months intensely focused on being present in my body to recover from certain traumas from which I used to escape by writing.

Now, writing is terrifying. To write, I must intentionally extract myself from the present. What if I don't come back? What if I can't come back? I don't trust myself to be careful and to listen and to return . . .

Yet.

Writing bracelet, you're going to help me.

When I slide you on my left wrist -- in my culture the left hand is reserved for promises -- you will give me permission to leave the present, to leave my body. To enter a new world.

With you, I will be safe. I will be true to the many Parts of me who each needs nurturing and care.

When I slide you off my wrist again, your departure will free me to return to this body I have learned to love. To this place where I am safe.

Perhaps, I will not need you forever. But for now, my muse thanks you.

Sincerely,
Lora (and all her many Parts)



***

To the reader:

This concept of the self being not one but many, and my reference to "Parts," draws on Dr. Richard Schwartz's IFS therapy model. It's helped me process a lot of hurt and trauma. It's still helping! The model was intuitive enough for me to work through on my own, without professional guidance. I read this book.