In September 2021, just three weeks before I stopped seeing patients in the clinic, I wrote in response to a poem titled “Things That Can Be Lost.” I wasn’t consciously thinking about the imminent loss of relationships with my patients. At first, I wrote about my feelings. “I thought I had lost my anxiety until […]
Writing Sorrow and Solace Read More »
This week I shared a piece with my writing group that didn’t feel successful. I wrote a response to a prompt that was full of false starts and repeated attempts to begin. I finally stumbled on a topic but then ran out of time. The feedback I got was still valuable. One writer pointed out
When Caregiving Crosses Creativity Read More »
In September 2021, I met with my memoir group. We had been meeting together for a year to get our first drafts written. The prompt was a familiar William Stafford poem, “The Way It Is.” My writing that day gave me insight into what my memoir was about. The poem speaks of a
About five years ago, I attended a Professional Training for AWA facilitators. We were an energetic group, and we all had a vital thing in common. We wanted to help people write and heal through their writing.
How to Be an Authentic Clown Read More »
The members of the writing group I facilitate have been together for six months. And the safety of the group is up to me. I no longer consider myself a freshman facilitator. I am a sophomore, or as my father called them, wise morons. The word sophomore derives from the Greek, sophos meaning wise
Staying Safe on the Learning Curve Read More »
In this week, seven years ago, I posted an entry called Happiness: Finding the Way. Yesterday, I wrote in an offering from Write Around the World for Amherst Writers & Artists. There are sessions going on until May 31. I was given a writing prompt that caused me to revisit my earlier blog post. The
Happiness Revisited Read More »
During a week-long meditation retreat in 1999, ten years after graduating from medical school, I unlocked a box in my chest that held ten years’ worth of grief and anger. Tears and heat poured out of that box. I had survived medical school, postgraduate training, and my first five years as a full-fledged doctor, but
How Poetry Saved Me Read More »
