Being pro-active about depression
& announcing a new Writing the Mother Wound Intensive
I have been feeling lost for some time now. I can say it was the election but that’s not completely true. There’s so much to feel distraught about—Gaza and Sudan and and and...
For years I’ve suffered from periodic bouts of depression. This time of year is especially hard for me. My brother loved the holidays. I have beautiful memories of him dragging me to SoHo to walk the cobblestone streets to gawk at the gaudy window displays and all the many expensive art and clothes we couldn’t afford. The holidays have never been the same since he died in 2013…
Yesterday, November 18, would have been his son’s 33rd birthday. My beautiful Justin Andrew was taken from us violently three years ago next month.
So yes, it makes sense that I’m triggered by this time of year, but it feels different this time around. I’m questioning so much—who I am, what I’m doing, why I’m doing it.
Of course the election results exacerbated that. I’m a queer woman married to a butch, and I have a queer daughter who is a college student. I am worried for us. We are scrambling to figure out how to protect ourselves once the orange stain gets in office and starts to enact policies that will strip my family of rights and protections. What will happen to us?
And, yes, I’m still working on this book that I’ve been writing for 15+ years, a story that took on new energy when I found that my mother had left me her writing when she died last year. (An excerpt was published in AGNI earlier this year.) A recent experience that I don’t care to divulge here hobbled me and has me questioning this tale that I’ve spent so much time trying to write, and has cost me a lot in tears and relationships. Is it worth it? Who wants to read these stories? Why do they matter?
On September 27th, we got a puppy. This wasn’t planned, but let me tell you, the only thing keeping my head above water these days is this little dog. His name is Hutch and he’s taken over my life. I’m hiking again, after over a month of not doing this thing I love so much, because depression robs you of some of your greatest joys.
In the midst of all this, I’ve gotten messages from people asking if I’ll be facilitating a Writing the Mother Wound Intensive, as I’ve done periodically for years now.
Is this spirit affirming the work?
I am depressed but I still know in my core that this Writing the Mother Wound Movement I created is my life’s work. And I know I will one day edit a Writing the Mother Wound Anthology.
So I decided that in order to stand in that, I too need a reminder. That reminder comes in the form of a one day Writing the Mother Wound intensive.
When: December 21st, 2-5pm ET
Where: online via zoom
How much: $100 (Partial, need based scholarships available. Email writingourlivesworkshop@gmail.com for more info. If you’re interested in sponsoring a scholarship, please let me know.)
I’m also launching a series where once a month (starting in January) we examine how the mother wound has been written about in various genres: poetry, fiction, memoir, and maybe even plays. More on this soon.
I learned a few days ago that I was granted a residency for the month of July 2025 (I can’t share more info on this just yet), so this work will also facilitate that, because a month writing in the woods also means a month of no income, and I also have to get to the residency and flights to the location are $1000+. Yikes!
So, if you’ve ever wanted to work with me, here’s your chance. If you’ve heard good things about my Writing the Mother Wound work and have been curious to check out the class, now’s the time! Or if you’re new here and you too have/had a contentious relationship with your mother and want to write about it, I’m here to help you do that.
A note for those suffering with seasonal melancholy: Take it day by day. If you can get outside, go hug a tree, watch the birds in the trees, peer at the night sky. If you can manage to do something you love—write, paint, hike, lift weights, run, dance, whatever—try to give yourself that joy, if only for a few minutes this week. I love you. I see you. We out here. And prayers up that this too will pass.
Much love, forever,
V
I love Hutch's name! And yes, some days the doggies do all the work - praise their little (huge) souls of light. Sending you lots of tea and slow time for ingesting the grief <3 <3