Kindness Notice1: Brief, general mentions of abuse and trauma.
Dear Creatives,
I’m going to be honest. I’m nervous to hit publish on this post. There are parts that are realllllly vulnerable. But I don’t know how to write this letter to you any other way.
One of the most powerful things we can do for our art and creative growth is to step into deeper levels of owning our stories.
We all have broken places.
It has taken a lifetime of living and a decade of therapy to step into owning mine. To start accepting the jagged edges of their landscapes and believing the broken pieces left behind might one day be placed into a mosaic with meaning.
I talk a lot about wonder living in the cracks of our world; the places we step over and pass by every day on our way to somewhere else.
Some of the deepest cracks and wildest journeys are found inside of us.
There was a small motivational plaque that hung on the wall in my childhood home boldly proclaiming, “Turn your scars into stars.”
Beware. The things we hang on our walls might wind up hanging in our hearts.
It whispered day after day my scars were only worthy of being seen if I could find a way to transform them into stars.
Stars were good. Scars were bad. Stars get celebrated. Scars get rejected.
So I grew up learning to hide my scars and parts of myself with them.
Maybe you did too.
But friends, I’m finding this couldn’t be farther from the truth.
Scars are the places where my story has traced the record of all the times I’ve survived it.
Scars are evidence of strength, not shame.
They have shaped an interior landscape where beauty and wonder live in the very places forged by harm and pain.
And scars have often become the marks on my soul from which I create.
“Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing we’ll ever do.”
―Brené Brown
My body wears the scars of congenital birth abnormalities and the 23 major medical surgeries to address them I had by the time I was 13. My childhood unfolded in hospital corridors and doctor’s offices.
My being wears the scars of trauma from growing up in an abusive, alcoholic home where I regularly lived in fear, sometimes for my life. And all the dynamics that reality entails.
But even back then, creating was a safe place where I could find myself again, if only for a moment.
So many of you have shared the hard things you are going through and how this practice of finding wonder and creating regularly gives you hope and strength in places that are impossibly difficult to navigate.
Me too, friend. Creativity is a lifeline.
It’s one reason I am so passionate about this space. About creating a community it is safe to bring your whole self to. And your whole creative practice.
In my high school and college years, I traded a toxic home environment for a religious one that ranged from moderately unhealthy to profoundly abusive.
I built a successful career there and was in varying levels of ministry leadership in independent charismatic ministry circles for 20+ years. I wrote books. I spoke from stages. I was ordained. I knew famous people.
When I left Africa and the ministry world behind 10 years ago, it wasn’t living in a conflict zone that gave me cPTSD, it was the spiritual abuse and religious trauma I walked through.
It has taken me a decade to untangle the things I experienced.
Because not all of them were bad. There were profound personal moments of genuine goodness. But there was also harm and wrong and deep complexity.
This isn’t an online space I feel like it is appropriate to write about these elements in detail, but I want you to know they are there.
Why?
Because if your story has scars too, I want you to know they are worthy of being called brave and beautiful.
I chase hope into the labyrinth of my own pain every day and find the bravery to believe and trust that even the sharpest fragments of my story are worthy of belonging.
And every sliver of your story is worthy of belonging too.
Even in the most broken places of our stories, wonder lives in our scars.
Friends know I’m the goofball who can’t carry a tune in a bucket thanks to one functionally deaf ear and the other that’s only a few notches better. But I WILL absolutely burst out in enthusiastic off-key renditions of favorite Broadway numbers anyway.
Today, while writing this, I pulled up one of my favorite YouTube videos and sang so loudly you could probably hear me down the block. Here it is. I highly recommend tissue… and dancing shoes.
This isn’t the polished movie version of the song with everyone in costume and character. This is the FIRST time Keala sang it in a group workshopping the content as they tried to get the movie greenlit for production.
You get to watch as the song sinks in as her story. It’s my story. And perhaps it’s yours as well.
It is stunning and glorious and dare I say, sacred.
I am not a stranger to the dark "Hide away, " they say "'Cause we don't want your broken parts" I've learned to be ashamed of all my scars "Run away, " they say "No one'll love you as you are" But I won't let them break me down to dust I know that there's a place for us For we are glorious When the sharpest words wanna cut me down I'm gonna send a flood, gonna drown 'em out I am brave, I am bruised I am who I'm meant to be, this is me Look out 'cause here I come And I'm marching on to the beat I drum I'm not scared to be seen I make no apologies, this is me... (except of song lyrics from This is Me, The Greatest Showman)
Our stories are sacred spaces.
I realized today for the first time in a decade, I’m not scared to be seen. Or to love myself through the process of owning my story.
I don’t need to turn my scars into stars because they already shine.
And when I can own the beauty of my scars, owning the process of making art just happens in the overflow.
No matter how messy or frustrating it is. I’m in making mode right now for a show and there have been some moments.
But I have nothing to prove. I make no apologies. This is me.
Because the truth is… Owning our stories sets our creativity free.
I am very aware that even mentioning these parts of my history may leave some of you with a lot of questions. I’m not trying to be vague or mysterious.
I simply want to honor this space for what it is, for our pursuit of wonder, creativity, and beauty together… and the vital work of building community around these things.
For that reason, I have a different site altogether for more of my personal memoir writing and occasional reflections on things I think about at the intersection of theology, culture, and spiritual experience.
If those subjects are interesting to you, here’s the link:
Also known as a context or trigger warning. As someone keenly aware of the reality of trauma, I’ve loved the practice but not the terminology. So around here, I call them Kindness Notices. I don’t expect I’ll need to use many of them but when the subject matter warrants, I will. To me, it is an act of kindness to give you a heads-up if potentially difficult content is coming soon. It’s not a political statement, it’s a way to care for people and hold space that all our journeys look different and are beautifully complex.
I cry every time I hear that song. It hits me so very deeply. Your words are so precious on such a difficult subject. I appreciate them. ♥️
Thank you ❤️