I never considered myself a writer or had the urge to become one. Although, I have always been an avid reader of both fiction and non-fiction. I am fascinated by writers’ courage and admire the expression of their thoughts and feelings but could not fathom the driving force that made them hold a pen and paper in their hands to build their narrative.
My children have pushed me for years to write my story and get it out there. It was not until my therapist Leslie told me I needed to share my compelling story of transformation from a victim of domestic abuse to a survivor. “Become their advocate, Kanchan. They need you”. I teared down and hugged her, standing in her embrace for good thirty seconds. And she failed to hide her emotions too. Writing my story and reaching out to people in adversity became my core purpose, my mission.
On my way home from the clinic, I called my three children one after the other, “Mom is ready to write.” They were thrilled to hear the eagerness in my voice. I came home fully energized and inspired. I straight away routed to the garage and looked for the box labeled Kanchan’s notes, loosely filled with written legal papers, inked in napkins, post its, papers from notebooks turned yellow bearing my emotions and mental thoughts scribbled on them throughout my years of agony. I picked up the box and brought it to my patio. I then moved my writing desk to the patio, opening up into a nicely trimmed lawn with pine trees, facing a church, across the road surrounded by mature oak trees which brought in soulful vibes. After all, I needed an environment to write. Isn’t that the way authors bring out their thoughts? I had to follow their practice to become a writer, I kiddingly smiled to myself. However, my patio is my favorite space in my whole house where I spend most of my time, after work and on weekends.
I was all set to take off-blank sheets from my printer, my surface pro, although my first draft was to be on paper, and a set of my preferred black ink gel pens. After chronologically arranging the papers from the box and sketching the framework, I started to write. It came as a surprise and a pleasant revelation that I had the flare to express. I was astonished and enthused in the same breath when I read back the pages voicing my emotions on paper. “I can do it,” I said to myself. However, putting out my tumultuous journey of living in the imprisonment of an angry, alcoholic and violent husband was going to be treacherous. I was trapped under his control, power and sadist behavior-solitary, isolated and alone for years. But, my commitment to writing kept me going day after day, page by page, diving back to my deep embedded hurt, which I believed was gone, that I had moved on, turned out to be not true. I realized it was going to be a tough jaunt, tougher than I had envisaged.
It brought back the remnants of the torture and suffering, transported back the symptomatic, physical, mental and emotional pain in my body. It was a roller coaster ride, soaring high in the sky one moment, bringing a smile of joy, hope, desire, tenacity and empowerment of the times when I got free, turning into moments of loud shrieking noise coming from my heart with the downward spiral reminding me of the gory episodes, the torment and distress, the depressive spells and the silent agony. I went through a period of PTSD. But the core purpose of writing my story, sharing it with the world, and reaching out to people of domestic violence did not deter my spirit from writing. I was as relentless now as I was when building the ramp toward my freedom along with my three children, who were casualties of the gruesome environment.
Reaching out to people was my only mission and there was no stopping me. I was needle focused, generating chapter after chapter. There were times when I had to take short breaks- walk in the nature or meditate to remain sane and centered. Then, I had to take a couple of longer breaks to come out of the PTSD spell, and overcome writer’s block. I took a vacation to Munich, Germany and Vienna which I always wanted to do. Hallstead was my favorite in that trip, setting serenity and calm in me. I felt inner happiness and sensed the true healing enrapturing me. I recognized writing my narrative of distress and pain were going to cure my crushed heart and soul which it seemed had not yet completely healed.
I had just suppressed my pain in the wake of moving on and enjoy my newly found freedom. Now, I allowed myself to create more space in my heart and brain for acceptance and forgiveness to keep working on the core purpose of my life. I came back from my retreat full of exhilaration and warmth in my heart to begin the chapters where I had left. In the previous chapter, I had already escaped and survived, protected my children and brought them to a safe place. I had to complete a few more chapters of my life. My journey had not stopped after coming out as a survivor. Now, I had to live my life and catch up for the days lost. I had freed my body but there was more healing to be done to free my mind and soul. Thus the journey towards spirituality began.
Faith in universe had taught me orderliness follows chaos, peace follows war and joy is not far behind suffering. I had a firm belief joy will come in my life someday, one day. I read spiritual books, listened to podcasts and interviews of spiritual gurus and learned men. Met and talked to seekers, like me. Mindfulness, surrendering to anger, greed, lust, attachments, and ego were some of the fundamentals of spirituality that touched my inner self. While writing the chapter, “Rekindling my spiritual journey”, I reminisced, how I gained my inner strength, humility and gratitude. How serenity and tranquility brought me to clearly see and admire the rising orange ball from the east side of my house, stillness in the trees, the white swans gliding in the infinite sky, the water falls, the star studded atmosphere, the ever changing shapes of moon. I could once again laugh at jokes, and move my body at the turning on of music. I had come full circle with a regained identity, dignity and close to my bare Self-Who I was. The choice to write my memoir was the wisest decision I took. I feel fully recovered and healed now.
Kanchan Bhaskar (Kan-chan Bhas-car), an Indian-American, is a first-time author. She holds a Master's Degree in social work and a certificate in life coaching. She is also a certified Business Coach. Being a successful Human Resource professional, her expertise is in training and mentoring. She is a certified advocate, speaker, and coach for victims and survivors of domestic violence. Kanchan lives in Chicago. Learn more about Kanchan on her website: kanchanbhaskar.com
