Poetry: An Intricate Glass Holding the Mind’s Martini
By Molly Arabella Kirk | December 2024
Poetry dismantles the stigma of mental health and trauma, creating a safe, judgment-free space where we can confront our inner demons.
‘We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.’ – Dead Poets Society
Whenever asked why I love poetry so much and, more specifically, why I write poems in the first place, my answer has always been because poetry is my lifeline. If I were to delve deeper, I would add that there is something so inherently and precariously human about sharing shards of our souls, the stories we keep tucked away deep in our bones, and unburdening ourselves – laying them bare on the page for all to see. Poetry is, and always has been, a place where people can find a home and a bridge that connects us all.
The truth is, I have never been particularly good at communicating my thoughts and feelings, let alone figuring out what they all mean. Often, it feels like I am stranded alone at sea, surrounded by infinite ocean, trying my best to tread water every day and keep my head above the relentless crashing waves of stress and anxiety. Life can feel perpetually disorientating and lonely, but through poetry I have finally found a safe medium where I can be vulnerable in a way that doesn’t make me feel weak. Poetry doesn’t require neat, coherent thoughts and structured paragraphs; it can be written in fragments, glimpses and whispers of half-formed feelings that become clearer as you write. It is a fluid medium of expression for all the words left unspoken every day, the ones that buzz around my head causing me to spiral, translating them instead into beautiful bouquets of lines, meter, rhyme, stanzas, phrases and punctuation, assorted in such a way that makes us feel deeper and understand ourselves better. Poet Luke Wright captures this well: ‘Part of poetry is making words do more work’.[1] Similarly, popular UAE poet Danabelle Gutierrez built upon this in an interview with me: ‘Personally, writing allows me to introspect and for me the ability to know myself is a truly empowering feeling. I also feel that when people read something that someone else has gone through and are able to resonate with it, there’s that feeling of being less alone which is also empowering.’
When I was 14, I had my first panic attack. It was during this period of my life that I realised words could be more than just tools for communication – they can be a lifeline, a way to process and release the inner chaos. One moment I was immersed in the studious stillness of the school library and in the next, the world around me shifted – sounds exploded in my ears, the lights blazed too bright, and the room spiralled as pure panic took over. I didn’t know what was happening to me at the time and I felt so embarrassed that I hid in the bathroom for the rest of the lesson, perching on the toilet seat trying desperately to regulate my ragged breathing. I was terrified. The sensation was so alien and all consuming, my whole body was rebelling. I felt like someone had reached into my lungs and forcefully stolen all my air, turning me inside out in the process. I was drowning and I didn’t know what to do or who to tell, always opting for the default “I’m fine,” instead. Since then panic attacks have followed me like an unwanted shadow but, thankfully, so has poetry (and a handful of breathing and grounding exercises). After an especially enlightening English class I suddenly discovered I had a way of communicating the bad days, of starting conversations with those around me that wouldn’t otherwise be possible. I felt seen and, for the first time since my panic attacks started, I could exhale the breath I was holding in. My writing became my escape, my anchor. When everything around me feels unsteady, it is a constant that simultaneously helps me ride out the downward spirals and reels me back in, keeping my mind more tethered and still.
In a world that constantly tells us to keep moving forwards, to push through our pain, to keep our heads up, be strong and okay every day, there is still no hiding from ourselves. Whilst it is by no means a cure, writing sheds a warm light on our daily struggles and starts those crucial conversations about mental health and trauma which at the very least makes living with ourselves easier, also enabling us to connect with others who might feel the same way. This, in turn, is what led me to publish my own book “Smashed Peaches”, an international anthology written by survivors of gender-based violence. Addressing the societal stigmas surrounding mental illness, trauma, domestic and sexual violence, systematic oppression and war, through the fluid spectrum of writing.
In a survey I conducted among mental health and violence survivor communities, I sought to measure the therapeutic, healing and societal impact of writing. A total of 111 participants responded, with unequivocal results in support of writing as a medium for both therapy and activism. Of all respondents: 58% had experienced violence; 75% indicated that writing about emotions and traumas helps/could help and 73% believed that reading about people who have experienced similar feelings/traumas is therapeutic. Similarly, On a scale of 1-10 on how effective participants find/view writing as therapy, the average amounted to 7/10. See below a few of the anonymous responses:
‘Poetry has given me the strength to speak up and share, allowing me to take the power back’.
‘Writing can help make sense of events. Personally, I sometimes cry when writing, which acts as a release and makes me feel much better about it. It feels a bit like you’re telling a person because you’re not bottling it up.’
‘It can make a huge difference, as, for me, each word I write releases the shame that has lived inside me, shame that was never mine to carry. Seeing my story on paper allows me to see it for what it is and offers real clarity. It has been the biggest shift in my life.’
‘In my case it helps me put into words what I am feeling and helps me visualise it from an outsider’s perspective. It is also nice to have an outlet. Even if no one is listening, I still feel like the page is paying attention to me.’
Jo Boustead highlights how ‘writing has opened up so many doors to conversations about mental illness and the isolation it pulls us into, because that isolation is real. The loneliness, the bitterness, the uncertainty, is forever real. But this is slowly changing.’ 2 Whilst some attest that art drives people to mental illness, I would argue that it is mental illness, a constant barrage of societal pressures and pervasive individual battles that drive people to art as a precious source of therapy: ‘A lot of creativity comes from a conflict somewhere in your mind’ – Wright.3 Creatives are simply compelled to put pen to paper during trying times and this has always been the case: think back to prominent artists such as Byron, Keats, Sylvia Plath and Anna Sexton. All of these incredibly talented and influential writers of the past paint a picture of the true complexities of mental illness and trauma, allowing them to each share their pain, touching on the taboo topics we shy away from in a meaningful, groundbreaking, unforgettable way that has led to generations of us feeling seen through their art.
The truth is, many of us hold a heady alcoholic blend of darkness, uncertainty, fear, and trauma deep inside. Poetry, like a fragile cocktail glass, delicately holds all the complexities of our swirling thoughts, helping us navigate through the chaos with grace and eventual understanding. There is an undeniable beauty that comes from finding your true voice through poetry. UCLA Psychiatrist and Poetry Therapist Robert Carroll stated that: ‘In times of trauma, our language centres may go offline, making it difficult to fully express ourselves. By activating a different part of the brain through metaphor, reading or listening to poetry may help us find our voice once again.’4 When I revisit my own writing about mental health and past traumatic experiences, I am often startled, as if reading the words of a confident, eloquent stranger – suddenly, everything I’ve kept inside is proudly laid bare on the page. While the stigma around mental health and trauma still lingers, poetry has undeniably been a powerful force in dismantling the silence left behind, allowing us to collectively move forwards with greater understanding and compassion.
References:
[2] https://idontmind.com/journal/how-poetry-is-breaking-down-the-stigma-around-mental-health
[4] https://artsandculture.google.com/story/the-healing-power-of-poetry/uAVR9WMpqwsMDg?hl=en
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