Writing, Life, & Detachment
I had a great call with my editor. I’ve said this before, but it’s worth repeating! She has pushed me as a writer where I need to be pushed. I do not have a linear mind. I can and do think in steps (though I tend to be better at big picture steps versus driving down to the details). I develop a picture of what needs to be done however challenging or complicated the task at hand and of the sub-tasks required to complete the project. Within the sub-tasks, I tend to lose linear cohesion. My mind naturally swirls, loops and jumps, which is pretty awesome :). BUT, the application of that mental framework to writing has translated into a pattern of skipping narrative steps. At its most glaring, I’ve jumped/advanced my characters in time within a scene. It is jarring. With the help of the editor, I’ve become more aware of my pattern.
What I’ve noticed with the awareness is that there is also a shadow behind the pattern. There is a way in which I wrote many of the scenes with a degree of detachment. Detachment is how I protect myself from the world. I’m a deep feeler and a deep thinker. What is often misunderstood is that there are many flavors of empathy. Empathy is often tossed around as if means little more than an ability/awareness to understand someone else, and sometimes more, to “feel” along with them. People who are empathic are “nice” and “sensitive.” They have high emotional intelligence. I’m in the category that I do not simply feel the emotions of others— I absorb them as if I am no more than a mirror, a reflection of what is real (that being the emotions of others). It is not voluntary. Emotional connection occurs without direct interaction, without spoken words. And it drives the way I show up in the world as much as any wound or shadow. My purpose to existing is to be of use to others. Throughout my life, I have often questioned whether I am real, or merely a mirage to someone else’s reality.
I am unable to exist behind a psychic shield or emotional armor. That is a concept some find hard to believe, as most people are able to “raise shields” without much effort. Surely, that’s something I could learn to do? No, it’s not. But I have to some degree learned how to cope, and it’s detachment. What it feels like for me is existing in the world but then taking a few steps back. Another way to describe this is that I don’t so much as “live” as I “observe.” Most people notice this though sometimes they are unsure what it means— though I’m often so naturally vulnerable (preference for authenticity) that I don’t even notice that I am that way or that my way of being strikes other people as unusual, at the same time, I come across as guarded (vulnerable and guarded at the same time, neat trick!). I am both fully present and yet removed (as trust is earned, I let go of the guardedness).
Being full-in to the world is exhausting. Detachment is a skill that helps me to step away from the emotional energy vibrating from others. It does not always work. I am often overwhelmed especially when in a large group or when I’m blindsided by unexpected emotional reactions especially when such reactions are betraying an honesty that was being kept hidden. Detachment does not block everything— it’s about reducing the intake enough that I can manage it under most conditions. I naturally took that detachment into many of the scenes. The editor saw and even felt it.
As I’ve been working through the edits, it’s also been a kind of personal work. I’m having to teach myself to step fully into the scene. Feel fully. Even absorb the emotions of my characters. Absent that, the immersion was often missing. I am curious how this is showing up in “real” world. Am I coming across as less guarded? Or have I limited the change to the world of writing? I see the difference in the scenes— When I compare before and after, it does not look or feel like the same person did the writing. Detachment is a necessary and useful tool in how I exist. And I want it to be a tool that I use versus a pattern that dictates how I show up (I want to drive my own bus!).
I love and appreciate that writing has also become a means of seeing my patterns, my shadows, of revealing who I am.
Despite my sometimes determined efforts to look the other way.
