Just tears flowing as I read this... thank you for sharing this. It speaks to the emptiness of a female heart--empty because she pours it all out, unseen and often silenced. Filling herself up again becomes the need--or (so they tell us) to stop pouring out.
But that's not like a woman. A woman's very being exists to pour out. We cannot stop being what we are, and how dare they ask us to? How dare they tell us we make ourselves victims and martyrs? It's only who we are.
And the question then becomes, how can we replenish the constant pouring?
And how can the vessels who receive the outpouring do better?
I tried to keep her pitcher full. Can't know how well I succeeded. Believe she herself kept it full, despite (because of?) her spending her life pouring it out. To everyone. O lost.
Aww, Chuck, hugs to you. I've been interacting with you a long time and if I was to have an opinion, I would say you did a fair amount of filling, too, along with her own
We are silent and our silence contains multitudes. We are silent because we teach boys pride and we teach girls shame. We're built and trained to carry the impossible burden of our own pain and others' rage and we are denied rage of our own.
There's simply no room for it. So we carry it all. Hot coals and corrosive acid burning us from the inside out, smiling, silent, dying by inches.
Better to run, better to howl at the uncaring moon.
I don’t agree. Generalisations are tricky but I don’t know the thinking mothers of any daughters these days who teach shame. I think we’ve come a long way. Maybe a cultural thing but my Scottish friends and their girls are proud and fearless. 🏴
It's difficult to think about but good to do so. Also to think of women challenged this way who went their own new direction. Which is also difficult. What is seen as strange is just a different look which one shouldn't have to protect all along the way.
Damn Linda. This was so beautiful. Beautiful and sad. But then again, that's what you do with your words. Always. In everything you write. Please teach me to write like you. 😭
Right? And the same way. Except without the towels and their four year old daughter died, too. She was a German Jew who escaped Hitler, only to die the same way Plath did.
I encounter this type of brutality day after day. See women’s heart breaking under constant attacks, affections starved, or terrible societal rejection. Does the moon see? I sure hope so. I know I see. I know. Hopefully that helps them feel a little less alone and empty than before.
Every time you teach me something new- and gut me at the same time. How do you hold so much sorrow and horror? I am exhausted just from the reading. As a grant writer supporting domestic violence programs and services- this new knowledge to me- breaks my heart in so many more ways. So many more reasons to share the truth beyond her poetry that keeps us all alive. What a waste, is all I am left with, what a cruel waste. As always thank you for your writing.
I don't know how I hold so much sorrow and horror, don't know how any of us does but somehow we do. Try balance it with joy and laughter, I guess. And Sylvia - so sad, indeed. I hope she found peace. And thank you, too. Without readers, what reason would there be to write?
You, sometimes I wonder if I'd have had the courage if I'd known how hard it would be. Cost me literally everything. My house and every penny I had. Walked away alive but dead broke. Not a penny to my name and a kid to support. But I survived. Made me stronger.
Wow! This is so powerful. I didn't know about Sylvia's letters. I was incredulous that she killed her babies too until I kept reading about the torment she'd endured. I'm so glad you got free. What a world where women can be treated in such a way. thank you for using your voice. Bit by bit we make a difference for all of us.
Doubly so, because her husband married the mistress he dumped Sylvia for and she raised Sylvia's kids. A few years later his second wife killed herself the same way, in the same house. Must have taken a mental toll on the kids to lose both their mom and their stepmom that way
I love how your imagination and words weave together so tightly that it feels like all of us at the same time. So beautiful and painful. I had images of my own moments - like a shared body memory.
Where to even begin? Well, firstly I was inspired to Pledge to you. Secondly, as I read this I was saying 'sorry' out loud repeatedly. I was surrounded by adult males as a child whose behaviour is marked in your words. So the sorry is for all of those men and their ways and for the culture that still makes it ok.
Thirdly. You can write. Oh my days can you write. A brutal subject is caressed here with a soft delicate sadness. It is a lament. A powerful one at that.
Fourthly. I don't think the moon cares either. Sorry again ;)
Oh, Paul, you touched my heart and made my day. I suspect you are not one of the men who needs to apologize because it's always the kind ones who apologize for those who are not. Thank you so much for the pledge, and for the kind compliments about my writing. That means a lot to me, it truly does. And thank you. But I'm still not sure on the moon. lol
I am really happy the comment landed as intended. My apologising might make someone think about what they are doing. As for the moon I feel a poem coming on. 🤣
Just tears flowing as I read this... thank you for sharing this. It speaks to the emptiness of a female heart--empty because she pours it all out, unseen and often silenced. Filling herself up again becomes the need--or (so they tell us) to stop pouring out.
But that's not like a woman. A woman's very being exists to pour out. We cannot stop being what we are, and how dare they ask us to? How dare they tell us we make ourselves victims and martyrs? It's only who we are.
And the question then becomes, how can we replenish the constant pouring?
And how can the vessels who receive the outpouring do better?
--The Dark Horse
Sometimes, people come along and fill us back up. And that's a nice thing, indeed. Thank you Jodi :)
I tried to keep her pitcher full. Can't know how well I succeeded. Believe she herself kept it full, despite (because of?) her spending her life pouring it out. To everyone. O lost.
I’m sorry
Aww, Chuck, hugs to you. I've been interacting with you a long time and if I was to have an opinion, I would say you did a fair amount of filling, too, along with her own
I am called to answer this...
We are silent and our silence contains multitudes. We are silent because we teach boys pride and we teach girls shame. We're built and trained to carry the impossible burden of our own pain and others' rage and we are denied rage of our own.
There's simply no room for it. So we carry it all. Hot coals and corrosive acid burning us from the inside out, smiling, silent, dying by inches.
Better to run, better to howl at the uncaring moon.
That's such a powerful point, that we teach boys pride and teach girls shame. If we could teach all children the same, what a world it would be.
I don’t agree. Generalisations are tricky but I don’t know the thinking mothers of any daughters these days who teach shame. I think we’ve come a long way. Maybe a cultural thing but my Scottish friends and their girls are proud and fearless. 🏴
Yes
This was beautiful and sad— I had no idea her life ended like that
Thanks, Shlee. And his second wife, too. Same way.
Wow
She was so young.
It's difficult to think about but good to do so. Also to think of women challenged this way who went their own new direction. Which is also difficult. What is seen as strange is just a different look which one shouldn't have to protect all along the way.
Damn Linda. This was so beautiful. Beautiful and sad. But then again, that's what you do with your words. Always. In everything you write. Please teach me to write like you. 😭
Aww, what a really nice thing to say. Thank you.
And his second wife also ended her life. God!
Right? And the same way. Except without the towels and their four year old daughter died, too. She was a German Jew who escaped Hitler, only to die the same way Plath did.
I did not know the child died! That’s unbearably sad.
I loved this.
Thank you Michiko
Thank you for reminding me how much we need words like these. Possibly the best thing I have ever read on here.
Thank you so much, that's a mighty big compliment and I'll take it gladly :)
I encounter this type of brutality day after day. See women’s heart breaking under constant attacks, affections starved, or terrible societal rejection. Does the moon see? I sure hope so. I know I see. I know. Hopefully that helps them feel a little less alone and empty than before.
You sure do, Kerry. You see a lot of it
Every time you teach me something new- and gut me at the same time. How do you hold so much sorrow and horror? I am exhausted just from the reading. As a grant writer supporting domestic violence programs and services- this new knowledge to me- breaks my heart in so many more ways. So many more reasons to share the truth beyond her poetry that keeps us all alive. What a waste, is all I am left with, what a cruel waste. As always thank you for your writing.
I don't know how I hold so much sorrow and horror, don't know how any of us does but somehow we do. Try balance it with joy and laughter, I guess. And Sylvia - so sad, indeed. I hope she found peace. And thank you, too. Without readers, what reason would there be to write?
Wow! Yes, I've been there. Holding my breath. Wanting to run but not daring to do it.
You, sometimes I wonder if I'd have had the courage if I'd known how hard it would be. Cost me literally everything. My house and every penny I had. Walked away alive but dead broke. Not a penny to my name and a kid to support. But I survived. Made me stronger.
That's the narrative every suppressed human needs. FU and the horse you rode in on!
Wow! This is so powerful. I didn't know about Sylvia's letters. I was incredulous that she killed her babies too until I kept reading about the torment she'd endured. I'm so glad you got free. What a world where women can be treated in such a way. thank you for using your voice. Bit by bit we make a difference for all of us.
Oh just so you know, Sylvia did not kill her babies. That's why she stuffed towels in the door. So the gas wouldn't get out. Her children survived.
Thanks for clarifying. Now the bread and milk makes sense. I imagine those babies had a troubled life.
Doubly so, because her husband married the mistress he dumped Sylvia for and she raised Sylvia's kids. A few years later his second wife killed herself the same way, in the same house. Must have taken a mental toll on the kids to lose both their mom and their stepmom that way
Wow! That's astonishing. I wonder if he beat the mistress/stepmother too. I don't believe in hell, but if I did, that guy surely earned a spot.
I love how your imagination and words weave together so tightly that it feels like all of us at the same time. So beautiful and painful. I had images of my own moments - like a shared body memory.
What a beautiful thing to say, Laura. I really identify with the idea of shared body memories. Like one person's pain echoes in everyone's pain
I agree Jane. I was in there feeling and dying and also watching spellbound at the same time
Where to even begin? Well, firstly I was inspired to Pledge to you. Secondly, as I read this I was saying 'sorry' out loud repeatedly. I was surrounded by adult males as a child whose behaviour is marked in your words. So the sorry is for all of those men and their ways and for the culture that still makes it ok.
Thirdly. You can write. Oh my days can you write. A brutal subject is caressed here with a soft delicate sadness. It is a lament. A powerful one at that.
Fourthly. I don't think the moon cares either. Sorry again ;)
Oh, Paul, you touched my heart and made my day. I suspect you are not one of the men who needs to apologize because it's always the kind ones who apologize for those who are not. Thank you so much for the pledge, and for the kind compliments about my writing. That means a lot to me, it truly does. And thank you. But I'm still not sure on the moon. lol
I am really happy the comment landed as intended. My apologising might make someone think about what they are doing. As for the moon I feel a poem coming on. 🤣
Crying for all women. 👩🏻🦳😢
I know, right? Thanks, Faith