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Writer's pictureAriadne Pautina

Ariadne's Web: Welcome Back

A close up of a spider's web

Content Warnings: Abuse / abusive relationships / domestic violence / suicidal ideation


Greetings and salutations!


Henri Matisse said "Creativity takes courage" and it took me time to understand that. I feel it's quite a layered statement, and one which can be seen in different ways. For there is bravery to voice what you feel, there is bravery in exposing your creativity to a world which tends to seek the familiar, and there is bravery to accept your own self and where your work fits - and, of course, who will stand by you when you finally find your voice.


Or rather finally have the courage to use your voice.


I know my voice was always there - in my imaginative escapes as a child, in the way I would seek solitude, in the elaborate world I created in my head. My dragon tattoo on my chest is an ode to the imaginary dragon I had when I was small; who wants a person, when dragons are an option?


But, despite believing in my own voice, it was challenging to use it.


Children are fearless, but that also means they are cruel. If you don't fit the expected mould, then the difference feels uncomfortable. And, because of who I am (which is a whole other discourse, for another time), it was easier to comply and just be. I was different, but there was a limit on how much difference was acceptable to those around me - family, classmates, society.


I don't include friends in that list because I've always struggled to keep them. My idiosyncrasies always drove them away in the end - until I found my ride or die.


So, for most of my life I wore a mask. And on the rare occurrences I let that mask slip, I was punished for it; sometimes literally. Slowly, though, I learned to save those metaphorical rocks thrown my way to build my own throne. My own queendom.


My own courage.


A rough surface on which a black masquerade mask is sitting

If only it was that easy.


Though I've always let my mask slip in my writing, no-one saw. Because I was made to believe no-one would ever want to read anything I wrote, that my words had no value. As a result, I lost so much time with ideas faded and stories untold.


Finding the courage to share my work with the world was a daunting act. I don't view it as brave, I don't feel brave - but I do feel empowered and strong. I feel as though I entered the publishing world with my eyes open. I knew as an independent self-published author it would be tough, and I set myself very realistic targets. With creative work which covers a hybrid of genres I knew it would be difficult to find an audience; and that's ok.


My goal was to use my voice. To achieve a dream I'd had since I was young.


And I've done it.


I've shared my mind, my life, with the world - which is terrifying if I actually sit and think about it that way. I've opened myself up to criticism from strangers, I've poured my past, my heart, and my soul out in every word, every design, every social media post.


But, all I've had is support. In fact, far more support from strangers than I've had from those closer to me.


That's not to say things have been amazingly positive - there are absolutely some hard lessons in publishing, and there are costs which seem to only increase. And I'm tired. There are posts which get no real traction and the ones you least expect to succeed flourish. And, one day, I'll get past that invisible barrier which keeps my posts in a small circle of views.


A phoenix made of gemstones and wicker on wire

Despite it all, I'm a phoenix rising from the ashes of my past.


I've channeled the trauma into material; which may or may not be the most healthy of ways to deal with what I've been through, but it was better than succumbing to the knife. To the vodka. To giving up at times when I saw no way out. While those feelings of despondency never go away, I can handle them now from a much better position.


The years of therapy for my C-PTSD truly changed my life. I never thought I'd be able to survive the abuse, the assault, the loss... and more. So much more. More than I will share right now. Not here.


Now, I can use this to improve the lives of others. Of strangers who I've never met, and may never. I've reached a point where I feel confident in my voice - to use it to share the experiences which shaped me, to use it to hopefully prevent someone else being hurt as I was. And it has been so validating to receive kindness and support from those same strangers.


This is a bittersweet feeling. I had hoped to feel that same support from people closer to me, but it has been lacking. I had shared The Menagerie with the intention of it opening up the conversation about my past. I had pointed out the content warnings, I had offered to talk. But, instead, the content warnings were a reason not to read, not to piece together the message.


Perhaps I should have been clearer.


But there are limits to how many times and how many ways you can try to discuss something which is denied. And I've tried. I have tried. Every piece of creative work I've written, every story I have shared, has my life threaded within it; the themes are dark, the violence is brutal, the love always has sorrow woven through. Writing was how I showed my bravery, writing was how I was able to process the things which affected me. And offering my creative work to those close to me was my bravery in trying to address topics which mattered.


Their silence is heartbreaking.


But we all have our own timetable, and we all have our own battles. My bravery to voice what I feel, my bravery in sharing my creativity with the world, with those I'm close to, and my bravery in accepting my own self has cumulated in this moment. And perhaps others aren't ready to find their voice yet, nor ready to hear mine.


Perhaps this courageousness will be step too far for some... and that's ok. Because I'm doing this for me. This is my voice, my story, my words. And if those who are hurt by me speaking them fail to see just how much it almost destroyed me to live them, then... I'm brave enough to speak them alone.


A sunflower standing taller than a field of other sunflowers

Next time...

I promised a deeper dive into the themes and choices I made creating The Elemental Pentology within my last post, but with the release of The Menagerie I shifted my focus... so, I'll be explaining more about that world next time.


Thank you for reading.


An old typewriter with white paper which reads 'thank you' in typewriter text

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