Thank You Grandy: An Honest Piece of My Time at Campowerment

Let’s talk about Grandy, Tammi’s momma, the creative writing/journaling savant, and all around life of the Campowerment party. Grandy the fabulous, fierce, sassy, adopted mother to all us campers. Yes, that is her in the above photo, wearing her crown and basking in all the birthday love bestowed upon her at camp. She is my woman! The brilliant, compassionate, and kind woman who brings light and joy to everyone she meets. I told her I would be sharing this on my blog so here it goes…

One of camp’s signature circles is Journaling with Grandy. During this session, Grandy gives a prompt and you write whatever comes to mind for a set number of minutes. When time is up, you put your pen down, no matter where you are in your writing. No prepping, no outlining, no editing, just the raw thoughts inside your head being put to paper. The results are powerful. The women who write and choose to share or not share and just listen are brave. No-one judges ever. It’s a safe space with Grandy as the leader and protector of our words. We all group hug at the end because after sharing such personal truths, hugs are needed. We leave the circle sharing a new closeness with each other and feeling freed by the words we didn’t realize needed to come out.

The prompt given by Grandy in my circle dealt with being able to go back to any part of your life with a blank canvas. How would you fill that canvas? What would that painting look like? I’m sorry Grandy–I’m botching the prompt a bit as I didn’t write it down. I apologize but you all get the idea.

Here is my response. I’m sharing it with all of you, directly off the pages of my Campowerment journal. I haven’t changed or edited it in any way. I chose to paint my canvas in the present.

My life is filled with many words. Nouns sometimes preceded by adjectives. Wonderful mother. Wife. Loyal friend. Postpartum depression survivor. Daughter. Older sister. I am all these things but I am more than all these things. My canvas has an empty white spot where the more should be. What woulds should fill the emptiness? Identity? Passion? I’m searching for them. It’s the beginning of my search. One word slowly appears in the blank space as a sketch. It’s the outline to something more. Writer. I want to write, to share my stories and fill up the rest of my canvas with them. I want to paint a picture for others that wasn’t painted for me. How I survived postpartum depression. How it made me stronger, self-aware, and led me to this place of wanting more. How it taught me it’s okay to be okay with who I am and not worry about who I thought I was supposed to be as a mom or wife, or a woman. I wouldn’t paint over that. I hope my canvas will help other women paint theirs.

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