I am also not a mother. I restrained myself in all the ways that purity culture demanded, only to find myself single and a virgin at 35, then married to a man who would shortly reject me sexually for the remainder of our now soon-to-be-ending 15-year marriage. All the while, I have spent even longer as someone who works with families professionally during pregnancy and birth, having supported hundreds of women as they became mothers. To say that I have wrestled with my identity over the years is an understatement.
I know it's not the same, but you're a writer who is nurturing and generative by inspiring others to become one too. A year ago something clicked in me when I read your post considering leaving publishing and how Substack has worked for you. It sparked an idea that I've been exploring quietly and within which finding so, so much life. It's not an overstatement to say that I've begun calling myself a writer again after 20 years in part because you've been showing me how. Thank you, Lore.
This spoke to such a deep, unexplored place for me. I'm stepping into such a season (task) as well. Thank you for writing this, and doing so earnestly.
I could have written this, though backwards. I knew the writer in me first, assumed the other had to follow based on the inevitable pattern of a woman’s worth. But my womb will not play and words are truer than my hormones.
Thanks Lore. This resonates with me a lot as a writer whose journey also involves infertility. Two things it reminded me of.
1. Dorothy Sayers once said, in relation to writing anything personal: "Nobody but a god can pass unscathed through the searching ordeal of incarnation."
2. The rapper Black Thought once did 10 minutes of live freestyle, and one line always sticks out to me: "Barbwire my wrist and let it fill the page."
I have to keep telling myself and others that you/I/we are known and beloved. And it's okay to be more fully known and more fully loved by fewer people.
Oh my gosh Lore. You have written many stunning things over the years but this is sacred. I almost can't believe you shared something this beautiful with us. Thank you.
Your writing of memories brings many of my own back to me. They all are part of me, some way or another, but I lean on those which have, as you say, made me into me.
I am also not a mother. I restrained myself in all the ways that purity culture demanded, only to find myself single and a virgin at 35, then married to a man who would shortly reject me sexually for the remainder of our now soon-to-be-ending 15-year marriage. All the while, I have spent even longer as someone who works with families professionally during pregnancy and birth, having supported hundreds of women as they became mothers. To say that I have wrestled with my identity over the years is an understatement.
I know it's not the same, but you're a writer who is nurturing and generative by inspiring others to become one too. A year ago something clicked in me when I read your post considering leaving publishing and how Substack has worked for you. It sparked an idea that I've been exploring quietly and within which finding so, so much life. It's not an overstatement to say that I've begun calling myself a writer again after 20 years in part because you've been showing me how. Thank you, Lore.
Thank you. I love this. Really.
This spoke to such a deep, unexplored place for me. I'm stepping into such a season (task) as well. Thank you for writing this, and doing so earnestly.
I could have written this, though backwards. I knew the writer in me first, assumed the other had to follow based on the inevitable pattern of a woman’s worth. But my womb will not play and words are truer than my hormones.
Yes, a writer you are, my friend. A writer you most definitely are. Hugs to you.
Not a wife, not a mother, here and yes yes yes. Life is different and still good.
🙌🏼😭❤️🩹 So grateful for you.
Thank you for writing. Your words need to be read and re-read.
Thank you for this, Lore.
Thanks Lore. This resonates with me a lot as a writer whose journey also involves infertility. Two things it reminded me of.
1. Dorothy Sayers once said, in relation to writing anything personal: "Nobody but a god can pass unscathed through the searching ordeal of incarnation."
2. The rapper Black Thought once did 10 minutes of live freestyle, and one line always sticks out to me: "Barbwire my wrist and let it fill the page."
I have to keep telling myself and others that you/I/we are known and beloved. And it's okay to be more fully known and more fully loved by fewer people.
“I lose friends over the words.
I lose myself over the words not said.”
I feel this and relate to it all the way to my bones. Yes and yes.
Oh my gosh Lore. You have written many stunning things over the years but this is sacred. I almost can't believe you shared something this beautiful with us. Thank you.
This whole thing made me teary. Lore, this is breathtaking.
Your writing of memories brings many of my own back to me. They all are part of me, some way or another, but I lean on those which have, as you say, made me into me.
Something about this reminds me of Leah in the Bible. It feels haunting and redemptive and beautiful. ♥️
I can't find words to express just how much this piece means to my heart. Thank you. 💜