Finding Your Voice...
...again!
Sometimes the internet gives you what you want. I recently had occasion to look up ‘learning how to write again after a stroke’. I hit the Google jackpot and found exactly the source I needed.
Writing Your Way Back from Aphasia by author Dylan Krider
This source is anecdotal in nature, but it is real experience, which is what I was searching for.
People—some of whom I know—have medical reasons for no longer writing. They lose the use of a limb. They suffer a stroke. Their mental illnesses get the better of them and toy with their brains until they can no longer put together a coherent sentence. Others must fight blindness, arthritis, even basic depression, which can keep them from their writing desk and mess with their will to write. Every reason has its own special face, but there are commonalities in both situations and potential responses.
Using stroke recovery is a good place to start, because a stroke is a veritable attack on the brain, and the centers that control speech—both comprehension and engagement as well as physical production—are often involved. Various physical movements come into play—facial mobility for producing sound, arm movement for managing writing tools, dexterity for keyboards, etc. These issues frequently have to be dealt with first. But, for a writer, the communication centers and their ability to function is the biggest, most demoralizing factor. This roadblock to just finding the words can loom as insurmountable. For some, it means never writing again.
In his article, Krider relates how his first perception of the problem was that his arm and hand needed to recover their mobility. Then he learned how his brain was affected, that the recognition, understanding, and manipulation of words was undermined. He had to do something about that.
Whatever causes a writer to falter with words can completely paralyze them. The very perception that “I can’t do it” gnaws at the insides, sapping confidence further. So how does a writer go about finding their voice again?
All writers need confidence to maintain their writing discipline. Sometimes it’s based soundly on previous success, such as reader feedback or sales records. Sometimes it’s provided by the sense they have something to say that someone will want to read. Even writers who write primarily for themselves take pleasure and pride in their craft.
Then there’s the need to write, the determination that communicating one’s own ideas and dreams to others is a burning part of our make-up, a necessary creative outlet closely related to breathing. How strong is your need? .
For me, the realization that I need to ‘get back to my writing’ comes as a feeling of frustration and irritation, a kind of psychological constipation. Something is wrong, I think, but for some reason, it takes me a few more days to realize what it is. Then I sit down to finally work on a piece. A feeling of calm and well-being, even joy, returns, and I forge ahead. Even if the forge turns into more of a plodding slog, the release of ideas in a flow of words eases the pain of the previously blocked creative movement.
It is that level of seriousness about our writing that can ignite the flame of determination and sustain us through the hard work of recovery. Whether it is physical or psychological damage that creates barriers, or even that insidious rogue, life itself, writing’s importance to our souls is our sustenance. Finding our writing voice is deadly serious.
Krider is an example of such determination. He’d always written; he would write again. His article itself is the proof. He keeps at it, even though It still isn’t easy.
But, you say, nothing ever really is. What’s the cost/value analysis?
How much will I risk in search of my real muse, my creative self?
How much pain can I take?
What sort of balance allows me to pursue my creative voice and daily life simultaneously?
What sort of herculean strength will it take to keep me going?
Is finding my voice again worth the effort? Does it matter?
If your answers begin with an inability to comprehend a life without writing, that’s a clue. If you frequently hear your characters’ conversations or envision their spaceship as it breaks into your planet’s atmosphere, that’s another clue. If you have to be reminded to pick up something from the store or to cook your dinner because you’re mind is focused on that next confrontational scene, that’s another.
If you despair over ever being happy again without making up a story or crafting a poem, that’s your answer.
Unsurprisingly, confidence and determination are key factors to getting and keeping the creative fires burning. But in the case of medical situations, what kind of hope is there? I read something in my research that sounded helpful1.
“Because of the brain’s plasticity, there is no end to recovery”
The plasticity of the brain they refer to is physical. Brains sustaining damage will rework synapses and message routing to be able to handle their usual tasks. Retraining is necessary for the brain itself as well as the person it belongs to, but the possibilities are unlimited.
What about the plasticity of the psyche? Maybe it’s better referred to as resilience. The ability to recover from disaster. People succeed in working their way through what we now identify as PTSD. It can require coping tactics, counseling, and adjustments, but it can happen. Same for depression and people on various spectra. The question becomes, how to access your own resilience.
When a team doesn’t win, people are tempted to say, “They didn’t want it enough”. That’s not really the answer. Too many variables affect the outcome of whether or not a team wins. It’s not a one-sided effort.
You have to want it enough to try…and to keep trying…to see if you can reach your goal and win. If you don’t try, you definitely won’t win.
There can be barriers you can’t scale, when your energy is better spent elsewhere. That’s reality. My own motto is “Never give up; but know when to quit”. You can’t determine when—or if—to quit until you try.
What does it look like?
Affirming that you are going to try your best for as long as you can.
Showing up—sitting in that chair and using whatever tool you can to record words.
Moving from step to step without expecting miracles, just seeing what you can do.
Respecting yourself for what you accomplish; if yesterday you couldn’t write a legible ‘L’ and today you can—that’s progress to be respected.
Setting attainable goals. You tire easily, or get confused over word choices. Okay, write until you are fatigued, even if only 2 minutes. Then rest or take a break, and return. Don’t overtax yourself.
side note: It’s fine to challenge yourself, but don’t get caught up in self-sacrifice. I liken it to weight loss. If you sacrifice your favorite foods entirely, soon you will despair and abandon the program. Keep your challenges manageable.
If writing has become confusing, with grammar forgotten, spelling challenged, and words running loose, try these two steps.
Automatic writing, free verse, or experimental story-writing. Write without rules . Don’t self-edit. Just write. Keep it short. Stop wherever you are in your piece whenever you must.
When you come back and re-read it, don’t just toss it away, even if you hate it. Edit it. Slowly. Editing is a slow process anyway. Find the punctuation, tease out the word you wanted, replace the line you hated with a better one. You may still toss the piece, but you will have exercised your writing muscles once again, back on the search for your voice. You might also discover an alternative style that fits your new world.
Remember: We grow and change as writers all the time. You’ve been forced into change, but you can turn it to your advantage.
If writing in a standard fashion is physically beyond you, consider talk-to-text software or personal dictation. I know it’s not the same. Like a lot of writers, I think with my fingers—whether electronically or with pen and paper. But I also sometimes bury my face in a pillow until all distractions are shut out so I can focus on a knotty plot problem or evocative dialogue. And, in going vocal, you may discover a style of storytelling that didn’t come to you through writing words down.
As you progress—which you will—increase the challenges you place before yourself. Remain patient with yourself, but don’t rest on your laurels. If you complete a poem, try a story—or a longer poem. If you turn a phrase you find satisfactory, print it out and keep it on your desk. Share it with a trusted cohort or not, but keep it where it can remind you: You succeeded. You can succeed again.
For more information on the medical side, particularly aphasia, see the following: Florida State University2 , the Cleveland Clinic3 , and the Mayo Clinic4 .
[from site: https://constanttherapyhealth.com/brainwire/top-aphasia-faqs-answered-by-an-slp/ re treatment possibilities for aphasia: “Because of the brain’s plasticity, there is no end to recovery”]
[from Florida State University re: learning to read an write again after stroke: https://isl.fsu.edu/article/learning-read-and-write-again-after-stroke]
[for more background on aphasia, including symptoms, diagnosis, and treatment possibilities: The Cleveland Clinic: https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/5502-aphasia]
[more background on aphasia: The Mayo Clinic: https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/aphasia/symptoms-causes/syc-20369518]