Tearing Down Walls

Inspiration. For these posts, for me, it often comes on Sunday mornings.

On a Sunday morning in early September, I saw this story. It focused on a woman who insisted on displaying a Confederate flag in her front yard.

Her neighbors built tall wooden fences to block the view. She installed a taller flagpole. I won't tell you how it ended, but there was a twist in the woman's life that resulted in the climax.

The towering fences made me think of the walls we build around ourselves--as people and as writers. It made me reflect on my journey as a person and as a writer as I attempted to categorize the myriad of reasons why we construct barriers.

This is some of what I came up with:

• The fear there's no talent. I recently read Lin Wilder's essay titled "Nostalgia."  Apparently she's been writing since she was in high school but it's only been recently that she's shared her work. I don't know why it's taken so long for Lin to declare herself a writer, but I was bowled over by her piece. I mean... the craftsmanship. Many writers I've met lack self-confidence. Do we have have talent or not? How do we know until we let down our guard and let others in?

• The fear of being judged. You might be thinking, Whoa, Sioux! Isn't that the same as your first bullet? No, I mean sometimes we build walls because we're worried if we share personal stuff, we'll be judged as crazy. Easily riled up. Emotional. Depressed. From my perspective, we all have, uh... excrement in our lives. All of us either are messy ourselves or have messy families (or Dingdingding! We're the winner--we can check both boxes). It's just that some people are better at hiding it than others. I figure if somebody judges me without getting to know me, it's their loss. I'm an open book. I'm adopted, so I was rejected at birth. (Of course, the story's much more complicated than that, but that is how I felt at times.) I've made some stupid decisions when it comes to boys and men. (Haven't most women?) I have a brother who ruined my family with his addiction to OxyContin. (He's so estranged--and so strange--I don't even know where he lives or if he's still living.) I deal with depression. That's most of my mess. Judge me, or join me in a conversation about it as you get to know me. The choice is yours.

• The fear we don't have a story to tell. I think everyone has a story to tell. I'm a firm believer that if we allow ourselves to get to our very essence, if we're brave enough to tell our story in an honest way, we'll end up with a compelling piece. I always tell my students that a great writer can write about ordinary things in an extraordinary way... and it ends up elevating/illuminating the subject. Case in point: one of my critique group partners has lived a fascinating life. Her childhood is a rich tapestry of events. She's lived in Alaska. She's been a single mother for part of her life. She found true love with a second marriage. More than once, we've tried to convince her to work on her memoir. Her response? "No way. Who would be interested in my life?" The truth? Just about everybody would be fascinated by her story. 

How about you? What kind of walls have you built around yourself... and how are you working to tear them down?

Sioux Roslawski is a teacher, a writer, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a writing accountability group member and a dog rescue volunteer. She's currently working on a historical novel for middle-grade readers... and it's slow-going right now. 

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