By Lisa Cooper Ellison
When I picked up my badge at the AWP registration desk, I’d had so many plans: Meetups with colleagues and friends. Must see panels. A list of booths to visit at the bookfair. Dabbing tears and willing myself not to full-on sob as I stirred scrambled eggs around my plate wasn’t one of them.
But on the first morning of the conference, I sat in the hotel’s restaurant, sniffling and staring at my phone, praying no one would ask why, because I didn’t have the strength to say it was the twenty-seven-year anniversary of my brother’s suicide.
After almost three decades, you’d think I’d be a grief pro, able to compartmentalize my sadness until the end of the day, or schedule it first thing, before my shower and makeup. I used to think I could. At a prior AWP Conference that coincided with this anniversary, I’d tabled for a literary magazine in the morning, then crammed my afternoon with so many panels there wasn’t time to think or feel—let alone cry—until I fell into bed. It seemed like the perfect plan.
This year, the anniversary was top of mind. That morning, I’d launched an episode of my W riting Your Resilience podcast where Eileen Vorbach Collins and I had talked about her memoir, Love in the Archives , and our experiences as survivors of suicide loss. At breakfast, a tsunami of grief rushed in without warning. Knowing resistance was futile, I paid my check and returned to my room.
Once inside, I created a playlist of grunge and metal tunes my brother and I once listened to, then topped it off with “Do You Realize” by the Flaming Lips . After slipping in my earbuds, I ripped back the curtains, faced the sun beaming through the window, and slam danced and whisper screamed the lyrics through my sobs, stopping now and then to catch my breath or blow my nose.
Later that day, my panel’s moderator asked how I take care of myself as a writer. I started with typical stuff, like healthy eating, movement, and adequate sleep. Then I shared the importance of meeting yourself where you are, which sometimes means holding a snot-bubble-cry dance party at AWP, even if you have a panel presentation to do and your makeup is already on.
Many of us divorce ourselves from our experiences, so that our outward appearance aligns with others’ expectations. Hoping to be seen as successful, eager, and happy, we buy into the traps of busyness, binge-worthy shows, and scrollaxing on social media because it’s safer than facing the truth: Sometimes we are hungry, lonely, tired, grieving, or otherwise experiencing things counter to what our professional profiles or other people’s social media feeds suggest are acceptable.
When we overpack our schedules, we don’t just shut down the feelings we dislike, we silence the creative force inside us that writes what’s authentic and true.
In her book How to Become the Love You Seek , psychologist Nicole LePera shares a road map for reconnecting to your authenticity. In a chapter titled “Exploring Your Embodied Self,” she invites you to check in with your physical, emotional, and spiritual needs several times per day. While there are several steps in this process, the heart check-in was especially important to me that morning, and I find it’s one writers need most. Here are the questions:
What do I really think, feel, or want to do?
What do I think, or worry, would happen if I shared my true and authentic thoughts, perspectives, and feelings right now?
How would I feel if I shared what I’m really thinking or feeling?
That morning at AWP, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts and cry uncontrollably until the grief had worked itself out of my system. I feared people might not understand why I’d be so sad after all these years—especially at an event where I’m supposed to show up as a professional. But a small yet wise part of me knew that if I could meet myself where I was, I wouldn’t just feel better, I’d be a better presenter, and more creative.
So, I held my dance party, dined with people who understood grief, and spent the evening journaling in my room.
Then something magical happened.
My January had been so busy I’d had few opportunities to write. Even when I found the time, I felt uninspired. By the end of the conference, waves of ideas washed over me. I started two essays and outlined a book project I’d been struggling to wrap my mind around.
While holding my little dance party and sharing it with others felt risky, the payoff did more than ignite my creative process. After my panel, an attendee told me she was also struggling with some anniversary feels, but she’d gone to a 9:00 AM session, believing she’d needed to. She planned to hold her own dance party later that day. I hope she met herself wherever she was—tears and all—for herself, her lost loved one, and her creative process.
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Lisa Cooper Ellison is an author, speaker, trauma-informed writing coach, and the host of the Writing Your Resilience Podcast. She’s spent the last two decades helping clients and students turn difficult experiences into art, and teaches courses in memoir, the psychology of writing, and the book proposal. Winner of the 2021 HippoCamp edition of the Lancaster Story Slam, her essays have appeared in the New York Times , HuffPost , Hippocampus Literary Magazine , and Kenyon Review Online among others.
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