There Are Many Ways to Start a Fire

There are many ways to start a fire: two sticks, a flint and steel, a magnifying glass. If you're left in the wild, you use what you have. Anything to survive. For me, my refuge was a library. And books were my kindling. I remember reading Roald Dahl's Matilda, and being instantly smitten. Moreover, I felt seen. Someone had captured in a character the influence that books can have on a young psyche, and the immense power they can wield to help lift us out of difficult circumstances. Matilda's escape into the pages helped show her a life outside of the confines of her family. This is precisely how I felt when I explored the world of the written word. And the journey through powerful women's voices has helped carry me throughout my life. But it isn't how I got here. I came into this world just like anyone else: through my mother.

For any person, one of the first introductions to womanhood is through their mother. They offer us a series of firsts, really. Our first home, our first, love, our first relationship. And for some, our first experience of heartache. This was my experience. My first home was cut a little short, as I was born severely premature. My second home was an incubator, in which I lived for several months. I couldn't be touched by most people. But I suppose it taught me to have thick skin, precisely because mine was so thin.

Just a few short years into my development, my mother left. We ended up living together again in my teenage years, but under the oppressive thumb of my narcissist stepfather. His rule was ironclad, and our house was not a home. He was verbally and financially abusive. I went no contact for several years, only returning near the end of his life. Throughout the abuse, belittlement, and drainage of all of my funds, my mother did nothing. Upon reflection as an adult, I now see it is because she was ground down to a nub. She lost her voice for her survival. But I needed strong women who dared to speak up. My survival depended on it.

I found these strong women in books, and in the women who wrote them.

I remember one of the first books I had read by Alice Walker, The Color Purple. Her characters were raw, real, and cut to the very heart of what make us human. With each read, during each era of my life, I take away something new from her story. The protagonist Celie, while her traumas are not mine, served as a mirror for my own struggles. Her story is mostly told through letters written to god. Though we may have been of a different skin, a different time, and pages apart, I felt in her a kindred spirit. The story paints the picture of a young woman torn apart, witness to unspeakable cruelty. She was a woman who dared to question her role in society and what it meant to be ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’. She was a woman who found safety in community, and healing in love. She was a woman that dared to persevere. Walker’s Celie symbolizes strength, resilience, and the complexity of the female experience. Her path, lit with both pain and empowerment, helped guide me towards an understanding of my own experiences.

Years after my first read of The Color Purple, I had the fortune to pick up a copy of one of Walker’s books of poetry, “Taking the Arrow Out of the Heart”. It was by complete chance, as it was purchased as a ‘blind date with a book’, wrapped. Her poetry was equally poignant, with the same themes of perseverance permeating throughout. All along, Alice Walker had lit the spark. She had awoken the sleeping dragon. Through her writing, I have learned how to not only survive, but to thrive. And now I write my own stories. There are many ways to start a fire, and I choose the pen.