Signifying Pain: Constructing and Healing the Self through Writing by Judith Harris

Having read Judith Harris' poetry in The Bad Secret (which I enthusiastically gave to my mother after I finished), I knew I would approach reading Signifying Pain eagerly. I did not know, however, how exciting it would be for me to read. Because it is a more academic type of writing, the reading goes slowly. The density of ideas and suggestions gives me much reason to pause and here I am hoping to try to write some meaning into what I am reading.

All writing that deals directly with suffering is already meticulously working through it. Failure to work through grief or pain fully only aggravates traumatic reaction (13).

Reaction versus response. This is something I have thought about often. One of the gifts that writing in my journal has offered me is the ability to respond to my life's circumstances. In the pages, I also can react. I can rage. I can complain. I can accuse. I can judge. And as the words begin to flow a subtle change occurs. Gradually the words shift to something more sympathetic or at least less accusatory. I find myself responding in a more compassionate manner. If someone hurts me it is tempting to react. Spite or anger can fire out some very vicious words. I could react to some perceived hurt by trying to hurt the offender. Instead, writing gives me just enough distance to respond in a manner that is both more honest, that will promote healing.

And this is such a surprising gift that writing has afforded time and time again. But there is so much more implied. Harris suggests in the introduction: "As Santayana forewarned and Freud concurred, if we choose to forget the past, we are condemned to repeat it-and this is true for both the individual and collective society. Hence we are bound by an imperative need to express, to witness, to tell the story of what it's like to endure" (13).

I like that word: endure. I know that there is this odd drive to make meaning of experiences. The child who is abused will abuse. The spouse of an addict will leave one marriage only to build a relationship with yet another addict. Of course, counseling helps and why? Because the patient is forced to do what journaling does for me-stop and pay attention. Listen to the lessons. Learn from the past. Look for the patterns and try to make different choices.

And the word of caution: "In accounts by writers, we learn how arduous a task it is to draw strength from introspection and how one must be willing to admit the dark power within that works for good or for ill" (xi-xii). I consider this to be like looking in a pool of water that is somewhat muddy. You are looking and you see a problem. You can look away, ignore the muddiness of life. Or you can reach out and try to remove the muddiness. This stirs up the water-the memories of the subconscious. Now the water is dirtier. What was the point? It is worse now. Hurts more to try to make meaning through words than just melting in front of the television for another hour or day. But eventually the water settles again and that part of life's past becomes clear, what you see begins to be something you recognize.

Then it is time to move to the next detail, the next experience. It doesn't ever end, a spiral staircase of constant self-exploring that gradually elevates you even if you are merely going in circles. And that is the resolve, because climbing up takes more energy than standing still, than descending, than falling.

There is choice. Take one step. Then another. Let yourself feel these things, relive them, and heal. It sometimes feels like you are not making improvements. Too often it is darkest before the storm. And climbing upward is tiring.

As I write this, I am relapsing. My vertigo has taken a more solid hold on my body. I feel frustrated. I want to cry. I want to scream. And I am here. I am writing. I am responding to what I am reading, to my life. I feel dark, trying to write my way to some light.