Judgment

This card indicates a moment of significant change or spiritual leveling up. You have contemplated your past experiences and learned from them, letting go of guilt, pain, or regret.

Want to?

Thump, thump, thump. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. My knees feel achy, a telltale sign of anxiety in my body. I add the five women’s names to the recipient box and fill in the subject line: “Want to start a writing group?” And hit send. My fingers are slick on the keyboard, sweaty digits being a new fear response developed in my forties.

***

In the last weeks of eighth grade, something happened. A shift in the atmosphere. The moment Wendy’s meaty hand grabbed my ponytail and twisted my head to an inhuman angle, banging it against the cream colored middle school hall wall, I stopped trusting girls. I had looked at her wrong. That’s what she said right before she came at me.

I had looked at her wrong. If it were that easy to make someone hate you, what would speaking do?

***

In ninth grade, the girls started taunting me within hours of my first day of freshman year. They took umbrage with my hair, my clothes, and my breasts. Over the summer, I had forgotten about Wendy; my worries about what might be wrong with me that led her to do what she did subsided. The adults had all told me it was not my fault; I chose to believe them, at least in the comfort of hazy, humid days, tanning myself in our yard, playing with our dogs, Buddy and Misty. Now I was right back in that moment with Wendy, new hallway, new girls, same me. It must be me.

***

It has taken nearly thirty years and thousands of dollars in therapy to write this email asking these women to be in a group with me. Since I was 13, since Wendy, I don’t put myself out there like this. Starting something of my own. But here I am, asking my current classmates to join a writing group, spend more time with me, and create with me. As I contemplated taking this leap, I thought about the reality of my situation in interpersonal relationships since meeting Wendy.

Since that day, I’ve been hiding a bit, never the first to ask a friend to do something, only dating people who chased me, fearing public humiliation and avoiding situations that would put me in the spotlight. Never ever public speaking. However, in this class, the teacher asked us to read aloud, sometimes excerpts from famous authors and often our own writing. She acted like it was a given, something we must do, so I did it. Of course, I was nervous at first; I worried I sounded dumb, thinking I wouldn’t know how to say certain words correctly, but then, after four weeks, it felt more natural, even easy. All this time being silent, and I didn’t need to be! I was relieved but also so sad. How much had I missed, always lurking in the shadows, never speaking up?

***

I refreshed my email all day. No answers from the women in my class yet. I start to doubt my actions, and as 7pm approaches and our last session begins, I feel my cheeks grow warm, shame washing over me. They are going to ignore my email and think I’m an idiot for sending it. Who am I to start a writing group? I think about not signing on, but I’m already seated in my chair, water by my left hand, blank document open to take notes.

Shelby, our teacher, welcomes us, and I dart my eyes at the little squares on my screen, but the problem with Zoom versus real life rears its ugly little head: you can never tell who someone is looking at. “Anyone want to share about their week?” Shelby asks.

“I think we are starting a writing group, right, Jianna?” Val says gleefully.

“For sure.” Brenna chimes in.

“It’s going to be great,” says Susan.

I audibly sigh, though I’m muted, so no one hears it, awash in relief, almost tearful. I’m not a fool. They are as excited as I am about staying together to write. My instincts were right; this is a trustworthy group of women, and I am safe with them.