This inner child work is releasing dynamics and depths in my creative writing I've never seen before. As I continue to develop the stories and characters, it's a roller coaster of emotions from laughter to courage to sorrow.

My fear has always been ending these stories since it reminds me of when I was in theater and would spend months learning lines, pouring myself into my character, and braving vulnerability with interactions with other characters in the play. After our last show, before we began deconstructing sets and boxing up costumes and scripts, I would sob for hours and days because all of the love, humor, and pain I poured into that character had to come back to me to carry once again, being too much to bear all at once.

I've always found it hard to let go of characters and stories because it meant I had to go back to accepting all the parts of myself and realizing the world doesn't really allow you to live the rich life portrayed on stage with strong connections to others. You're sometimes just left looking in the mirror at the fat kid whose weight serves no servable purpose, whose relationships are far fewer and shallower than those written for the stage, and who people no longer see as a character for entertainment and instead as a person they must determine if they love, hate, or are indifferent to.

I was once told I put too much of myself in my writing, but it made me think, "Who else am I supposed to put in there?"

I need art that evokes my humanity, not just my thoughts or idle attention. While my characters allow me to filter and funnel aspects of myself among them, it all comes from me; my trauma, the grief over every dream and desire that did not come true or save me and those that may never come true, the love I've never been courageous enough to fully show others, every fear I have of anything that will cause me or others pain, every moment I sobbed wanting it all to end because I never had the amount of strength needed to steer the ship in my rough and rising seas of emotions, every moment of laughter that escaped me despite my fear that joy is always followed by pain, every disappointment I caused in others and myself, but also all those times when I was able to impart my wisdom to another person in pain.

It's hard to be whole because it means I'm at the max of my strength when able to carry all of who I am. Stories help sift, sort, and see many of these parts in isolation that helps my inner child to heal. But always, it is hard to have it all rush back to me at the ending of things, since all of those characters who helped me carry them are now whole themselves and no longer able to help carry me. 

As an empirical person who enjoys the certainty of either fact or fiction, I’m learning to accept art is real and alive because it the entire spectrum of possibilities and truths. It is realer than the physics that bind the atoms of the universe because it is felt, not just seen or calculated. If there is anything that may help us restore the humanity of our species, I believe it is art, and that art is truly the only evidence of living, not just life.

Prompts for Reflection

1. What art is alive in your life?

2. How do you carry all the parts of your self when you feel whole?

3. What is it like when all that you pour into the world returns to you?

About the Author: Michael Key (he/they) lives in Dayton, OH and has worked in higher education for over 18 years. He is still relatively new to Illuman, only having about two years worth of time in the organization. Michael is originally from north Georgia, in the Appalachian mountains. He has lived in Ohio since 2013, beginning his sobriety in 2018, and now living with his to cuddly cats.