Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

Oppression hoped that I would not have a community. Hoped that I would not have a legion. Hoped that I would be all alone. Yet a community and a legion meant that I didn’t do this alone.

I joined a reflexive writing group this evening. My first. I have been writing reflexively here for the past four years, simply to ensure that my stories, my life, my parenting, my productivity gets the attention they all deserve, my way. So it was refreshing to see so many reclaiming what it means to do this form of writing. Not the composed kind that the system has taught us to abide by. Not the clean cut introduction, methods, results and discussion that no one even reads. But writing in a manner that is true and with a voice unafraid to be. It feels good to know there is a community for this form of writing hence why I joined.

It began with poetry and a dedication to those we write for. For me, my family and my ancestors, many who made it possible that I even exist. We were then given prompts to reflect on and as guided by one of my favorite poets Audre Lorde and the Litany of Survival Poem. This poem saved me when I found myself standing on the shorelines alone. It continues to save and remind me of why it is always better to speak, knowing we were never meant to survive. I honestly joined this workshop because of the poetry and simply to reflect on the year that was 2023.

The first prompt asked that we reflect on who remains. Who was still around us even though times may seem overwhelming. I did and found myself grateful to those that remain. Then the next one asked that we reflect on our fears. What are they and how did they even begin. By the time I was done writing this one, I felt as if I was unafraid of fear. That thing that meant to paralyze me in fear, seemed to wash over me in a disorienting sense that fear came near and nestled quite close in a way that can only be described as victorious. For what doesn’t kill you, what you no longer fear, can only make you strong. We then were asked to reflect on what those who instilled fear hoped to achieve. Here I found myself being angry. The audacity of people so to say. Then finally we were asked to reflect on things we were triumphant about. Like things that would allow us to say you did your worse but I’m still here. I was elated with this one because I survived.

The fact that I get to even reflect like this means the world to me and the things I wrote than for myself will be a guide as I look ahead to the new year with those standing next to me at the shoreline, those that help me continue unafraid, those that allow me to be triumphant over things heavy footed, and moments where we simply say out loud that rain or shine, we are still here, dreaming still, our way. For every single thing that tried to pull me down failed. So in closing and in the words of the great Lucille Clifton, “come, won’t you celebrate with me…” Keep reflective writing.