Up on the Roof, Deep Down in the Body

a writing prompt for you

Welcome to Writing in Company. Each week I share some words and a writing prompt, meant to be jumping-off points for you to write about what matters. Use the prompts however you like—to journal, to draft thoughts for your own writing project, as meditation or prayer ideas, or for another creative endeavor. You can always look back through the archive for more ideas. Grab your pen and paper, and let your words loose on the page.

I’m home for a brief break between travel for multiple workshops and retreats. I left myself just enough time to unpack, do laundry, and finish my prep/printing/packing for the next round of projects. What I didn’t expect was the roofing crew who are here for two days of work on our house.

Don't get me wrong—I am grateful for them. The roof needed attention. Insurance is covering it. It’s not our house (we live in a parsonage) so we have no deductible, even. It’s a stretch of bright cold days, and good for shingling. It’s just….loud.

I could leave and go set up in a coffee shop somewhere. Instead, I’m staying home with the dog. She’s an anxious old one—not happy about loud noises and strange goings-on outside. Her trembling started yesterday when tarps were unfolded and began flapping in the breeze. Then the banging started overhead, sending her under the desk. Intermittent thumps on the deck from clumps of shingles thrown down. Dangling cords and ladders outside the windows. A compressor outside the front door. Her usual routines and pathways upset.

She’s very interested in the people and the smells. But she’s been on high alert. Lots of snacks yesterday helped. So did a few quick trips outside, ducking under the doorframe, and stepping carefully across the nail-studded yard. I think she likes the distraction, but only from a distance.

I was hoping today would be calmer, and she could catch up on her day-snoozing while I catch up on work. But there is a new noise from a different compressor outside the window, and she’s back under my legs wedged between the chair and the ottoman. Wouldn’t it be nice if—once we learn we are safe—we could know it, and remember it, deep down in our bones?

In The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk, the author talks about a veteran who is processing trauma, and paraphrases a quote from Freud: “I believe this man is suffering from memories.”

I believe my dog is suffering from memories of her time on the streets before we rescued her in 2020. Even though she’s had almost four years of being safe and spoiled, she reverts to a state of trauma in a flash, feeling it overwhelmingly in her dog-body. If she were a person, I’d give her van der Kolk’s book to read, and we’d ponder ways she could practice mindfulness, self-soothing, and intentional connection with her body as a way to recognize and rewire her brain-body connection.

I’d also give her a journal and a pen and invite her to write. Van der Kolk says:

While trauma keeps us dumbfounded, the path out of it is paved with words, carefully assembled, piece by piece, until the whole story can be revealed.

Writing is one way to tell the story of what lives—welcome or not—in our memories and our bodies. We tell it to ourselves, assembling it in words, and when we are ready and brave enough, perhaps we can share it with others. Not so they can fix it, or even sympathize. Just so they can witness it, holding space for us, welcoming us in all our brokenness and fragility, our strength and resilience—our fullness as fellow human beings.

The dog can’t write. But she can eat treats and have company when a day is full of anxiety. Come to think of it, treats and company also make for a good writing day. We’ll both survive, together.

a writing prompt

Close your eyes. (Wait, first read the next paragraph, then close your eyes….)

Notice where you might be holding anxiety in your body today. Are your shoulders tight? Are you clenching your teeth? Is your neck bearing the weight of stress? (Okay, now close your eyes and notice, then open them again and read on….)

Take a few more deep breaths.

Then, write about that body part. I’d write about my shoulders—not necessarily the feeling of anxiety they carry, but what else there is to say about them. Their shape, their view of the world, the backpacks they have worn through the years...

Write until you’ve told yourself a new story for today—one that perhaps helps relieve a little bit of tension.

Related Prompts

Want more? Here are two related prompts you might have missed.

Head, Heart, Gut, Lungs, Body

And this guest post from Sarah E. Webb:

From Wounds to Wisdom

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Also, here’s a little soothing James Taylor I’ve had stuck in my head while our new roof is happening.

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