I have always been this type of gal: when I get an idea in my mind, I have to go for it - I get this firey passion to see it through and get it done, pretty much immediately. I dive deep into whatever subject it is and that becomes the focus of my mind’s free space for a while, until it’s served its purpose and often, it then floats away and I move on to the next thing. I’ve had many little businesses that only went so far: I sold marble jars, had a brief online magazine, made tote bags, designed a cafe business plan, started a vintage glassware event rental business, ran two podcasts, got certified as a health coach, and on and on. I don’t regret any of them, and quite like the part of me that sees the vision and executes it. Maybe it’s the Aquarius in me that loves the “letting go” part - no love lost, I learned and now I keep on walking.
Writing and poetry have been a hobby that never drifts far from my heart, even throughout my many seasons. Is it considered a ‘hobby’ if it’s more like a lifeline? A life-giver? A lifeblood? I write to process my inner world, I write when I’m happy, I write when I’m exhausted, I write when I’m grieving, I write when I’m inspired. It just helps.
I was born and raised in the digital age, and so for whatever reason, writing poetry on my phone in my notes app is the medium that feels good. I flow best, it’s convenient, and I can store all of these musings in a handy little folder that I always have access to. Over the last four years, I have scribbled many poems in my notes app, and a few months ago, the thought came: “It’s time to share these.”
The last two years have been a complete doozy, and I’ve been smushed and crumpled and reborn as a person more than once. Now, I’m nearly two months out from birthing my second child, standing weeks away from my deceased daughter’s first birthday, and well, it feels like a good time to share. It’s time to honor the chapters I’ve lived through and let them go. I feel strongly that it is time. I want this season to be marked and known and read and honored. And then, I want to let it go. Never forget it, of course, but let it loose from my grip and allow it to float and simmer through my body, alchemizing and healing with each passing day.
I compiled a book of seventy-two poems. Many of which I wrote in the depths of my grieving process with both my Mom, Julie, and my daughter, Alinah (it feels good to say their names). I considered just creating the book for myself so I could honor the chapter for my own healing process. After I received dozens of dms, emails, and texts thanking me for sharing my writing on grief, asking where they can find more, and also: “do you have any books or poetry books you would recommend that touch on grief?”
I figured it was a clear sign that I should share my most tender musings, because if it could help a grieving mama halfway across the world even for a MOMENT, it would be worth it. I found only one poetry book on a mother’s grief, and it touched my heart so completely. It was like an emergency first aid for me when I was bleeding, aching, and trying to heal.
SO,
all this to say.
I have planned to launch my book for presale today and for the last few days, I can’t stop crying. I look at my website, and I cry. I try to record a little promo for the book, and I cry. I read some of the poems, and I cry. I cry, and I cry. I look out the window and consider the immensity of sharing these words in this format. It could be on someone’s bookshelf for 100 years, what the heck? I consider myself an open person when it comes to sharing my feelings, but this feels next-level vulnerable.
I’m sharing this here, I think, because Substack has always felt like a safe and cozy place for me. I come here to process in full honesty with a readership that feels quite compassionate and kindred. I imagine I could invite many of you over for dinner and we would have a really nice time.
My poetry book, Excruciating Bliss, shares a window into my healing. It begins with words marking the depths of my grief, shock, sorrow, and yet also includes a jaw-dropping spiritual bliss and understanding that can happen when our realities are shaken to their core. The sorrow and ache of the poems begins to lighten, the sun peaks through the clouds again, and hope returns. I share the initial feelings of growing new life amidst loss and finish the pages with a new, wise, and hard earned since of joy. I admit that this book may be a bit hard for some to read at the start, especially those who have not experienced loss. I hope that my book lands in the tender hands of who it’s meant to, and it nourishes the hearts of many.
I’m self-publishing this book, which means I’m paying for them all upfront myself, wrapping, packaging, and shipping them out myself, which will be an adventure in and of itself. Someday I may embark on the journey of finding a publisher, but it felt right this time to keep it close, and tend to it with my own hands.
If you would like to purchase my book, you can do so here:
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Thank you for your love, kindness, and care along the way.
Cheers to vulnerability, and the bridges that can be built when we share in our grief.
With love,
Rohini
Rohini, I cannot even begin to tell you how I want to cry and celebrate with you! I’m so proud of you, sister.
You’re my kindred spirit! I’ve been writing and turning feelings into words for at least 10 years now, though rapidly coming up on 15 years. Poetry and words have always been the way to my heart, and I can’t wait to dive into this journey of healing and reflection with you.
For the past three years, I’ve been wanting to publish my poems, but fear has always held me back. There truly is no time like now, for do what we are meant to do.
Lots of love 💛
Rohini,
The way you share resonates deep in my bones. Perhaps because I see fragments of my own story woven through your words. A mirror of sorts. Thank you for making something real.
xo,
Taylor