24 August 2025, London, UK

“And the day came when the risk of staying tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”  – Anais Nin

“I think you need to come write with me,” I said.

She shook her head, her eyes damp.  “I don’t want people to know how broken I am.”

“We’re all broken,” I whispered.

“I know, I know,” she said. 

“No, really” I said with more urgency. “We’re all broken.” 

“I know, I know, I know.” she said.

Does she? Do I? Are we broken? Is that what this is? A world full of broken human parts and pieces floating around? Well, yes, I don’t have to look far to see that this is true. And, of course, we are more. 

This is why I write. 

This is why I lead these writing circles. 

Because we are broken.  

And because we are so much more.

*****

I’ve learned that most of us believe that we are alone in our sadness, darkness, anger, angst, confusion, self-doubt, self-loathing, anxiety, fear...  We often believe that there’s no way others “get” us or ever could. We think we are the only ones who are broken.

In this Wild Writing process, we write about and share our brokenness and our wholeness.  We experience how they live side-by-side in all of us. As we read our writing aloud, we are seen, heard and met – we are witnessed. Sharing our writing is not optional in this practice; it is built in to the process. It is the part that often makes people say no, or maybe next time, or perhaps next year, or no thank you. It is also the part that most surprises people because it is so powerful and connecting. Exposing our unedited selves lessens the space between us. Even on Zoom. We are brought immediately into each other’s kitchens, home offices, living rooms, patios, and hearts.

There is little or no verbal feedback in Wild Writing – the response is a warm thank you or a non-verbal gesture to communicate ‘I’m with you.’ It is not unusual for there to be tears when someone reads aloud, and people often comment afterwards about the relief this brings. While there may be initial embarrassment at the tears that flow when reading one’s piece, there is a growing “aha” when people realize that theirs won’t be the only tears to grace the circle. Other writers will shed tears, their voices will crack, they will have to pause and breathe before they can continue reading. People learn that we in the circle will hold them.

Many of the people I have written with over this inaugural year leading these circles speak of the magic we create together when we write and share. Once people have experienced this magic, they often return.  Even as the group constellation changes when a new session begins, new and experienced Wild Writers are wowed again and again. Yes, the stories are different, but the boat we ride in, the jet that carries us, the planet we spin on, is the same. 

Of course I am always learning more about myself in this writing and guiding process. I love it when I am surprised by something that emerges from my own writing - a gift from the writing Gods and Goddesses. Here are a few excerpts from recent writes of mine: 

- ‘It is the pursuit of being someone other than who I am that is the evil.’

-‘In response to that, I don’t plan. I am anti-planning. But that has also made me anti-living.’

- ‘I don’t know if we come to peace with these things or if we just learn to incorporate the grief and bring it along with us.’

- ‘You get to say the things that are true even if you don’t understand them.’

I am not processing any of these things during the timed writes. I write and when it is my turn, I read aloud. Sometimes I write into something that feels true, and when I speak that truth aloud, my whole being comes alive. I know I’ve struck gold. This is the beauty of Wild Writing; my authentic self is invited to the party. 

Leading these circles brings up self-doubt about my own abilities and leadership skills: “Am I good enough? Am I wise enough? Am I doing enough to care for those in the circle?  Is there something I need to prepare them better for, save them from, point them towards?” (Oh, the ego loves to rear her lovely head!)

I worry sometimes if it is too much to invite this kind of vulnerability. (I say this even as I am convinced that vulnerability is everything!)  Eventually, my wiser voice comes along and reminds me that I am not making anyone write anything. I am offering poems and prompts and space, and people are going where they want to go. And, if they are being honest with themselves, they are going where they need to go.  MY work is to provide the container for this possibility. (And help people find a therapist if needed!)

I’ve learned that I love this work. 

I’ve learned that I love this world. This Goddamned broken world full of beauty and full of the exquisite souls that I get to write with every week. 

Thank you to each and every one of you. You are the people who are walking me home. Thank you and oh so many blessings upon you.