19 years ago my life changed forever. I guess you could say that of anyone who becomes a parent. Yet unlike most women who become mothers, my journey into motherhood can be described as "special".
I won't bore you with all the details, but suffice to say, the moment my daughter was placed in my arms and she looked at me, I knew. I knew that my life had changed; and I was in shock. I guess a mother does know her child best, and such was the case. For when those slanted eyeslooked at me for the first time, I knew my daughter had Down syndrome.
For the past 19 years, I have journeyed with my daughter and have rode the ebbs and flows of life, accepting her for who she is. Yes, I could espouse the virtues of the gifts of having a child with special needs. Conversely I could inform you of the struggles and daily challenges of living with someone who has a disability or working with teachers and social workers defining what is "appropriate" in our free and appropriate education system. Yet those details would not be able to clearly define the journey I have taken. For those details are actions, are movement, but they are not the soul of the journey.
In her guide to recovering artists, Vein of Gold, Julia Cameron describes a "creative wound". For Ms. Cameron, a creative wound is the result of a painful or stressful situation that immobilizes an artist's creative work. For many artists, playwrights, and authors these traumas create a "block" that prevents the continuation of art. When I first read these words, I was was hit with an "a-ha moment". Although Ms. Cameron's intent is to assist artists who are "stuck", I am fairly certain that she was not prepared to apply those words to my life situation. Yet, when I read those words, I knew that they could be; and it became clear to me what happened in that delivery room so many years ago. My daughter's birth and subsequent diagnosis is for me, a creative wound. As a parent, as a pro-creator, the experience could be nothing less.
Throughout the years, like so many other parents, I have learned to intellectualize my daughter's diagnosis. I have learned to accept her for who she is and the impact that the disability has on our entire family. Yet, all the years of therapy and support groups did not touch on the essence of what I have experienced, a creative wound; for the part of me that truly ached was my soul, my creative self. I had in essence, created a child, a piece of art, that others deemed unacceptable. The impact that has on one's spirit, can only be described as a shock to the creative system. Unlike most of the people I know who have Ds, my daughter has an additional disability, a severe speech impairment known as apraxia. This condition results in words that are not processed correctly through the synapses of her brain, and the words she speaks come out garbled. In addition to typical stares that may come in any communal experience such as church or the grocery store, when my daughter's words sound like abstract vocalizations, people become afraid. To have created a child of whom others are afraid is a creative wound. To watch my (then) young son be too embarrassed to have friends at his home because his sister could not speak, is a creative wound. To comfort a younger daughter who is afraid to walk near her sister who may strike rather use words, is a creative wound. To struggle to understand her excitement and animation over something great that happened at school, and still not understand, is a creative wound. To have looked forward to the day, when finally, in heaven, you can image yourselves talking to each other, is a creative wound.
Yet graciously, Julia Cameron continues her thoughts by explaining, "it is the use of creativity that heals the creative wound. Nothing else works." And that is the key to moving forward. Despite those years of therapy, support groups and glasses of wine with other moms, the one thing that has allowed me to journey forward is my continued creativity.
Each Wednesday morning for several years, I have taken a painting class. Since the beginning of those classes I have experienced more of life - several miscarriages, years of unpredictable panic attacks and raised three children. I have returned to work and promoted inclusive education. I have volunteered, spoken publicly, sustained a loving marriage, and became "Friends" with others. Yet, through it all, I painted.
I can talk with you about painting - it's mediums, it products, it techniques. Yet, the greatest lesson I have learned about painting is this: it heals. There comes a point in every piece I do that I want to put it down. I don't like it. I am not connected to it. I can't see the end result. Yet, inevitably, when I continue with the process, with the journey; when I push through it; the painting becomes art.
For me, there is is magic in knowing that what I experienced 19 years ago is not an intellectual wound but a creative one. For in being able to identify it as such, I now have the answers and the tools for healing it. Through creativity, through right brain activity, through laughter, art, cooking, painting, sewing, dancing, playing, sports, pottery, writing, yoga, all creative wounds can heal.
My pro-creative wound has healed because of art. It's the activity of creation and re-creation and knowing that can continue, which does the healing. For in acknowledging and using the tools of creativity, the Divine and Ultimate creation - my soul - has healed.
