How literally learning to write helps shape your identity
'The ant said: If you want to write something that will help someone, you have to come up with something that you don’t understand yourself. Only then will the one who reads it always remember it.'
This week a sense of insecurity went through me. My mind wandered wether my quest would make sense to people. Luckily I bumped into this quote from Dutch writer Toon Tellegen. Right on time the ant gave me an eyeopener. It made me conscious again how much my brain and my whole being had been depending on receiving feedback. How many times has that happened to you as well? You spent time and effort in writing a work or study related piece. Regardless of the feedback you received, did you yourself feel satisfied with the result? It is a tough question which I am not ready yet to answer with a big YES! It is still an ongoing process of finding the right balance in using feedback without letting it determine the confidence in myself.
Even in sharing this Substack page to a wider audience, I feel resistance in myself. Weeks ago I started writing online. Until now I only dared to share it with a small group of people. What am I afraid of?! A friend reminded me that undergoing changes in life will make you lose and gain things at the same time. Those are hard processes that need time and courage. Just make sure you have a plan B as well! A refreshing thought. When my friend and I were saying goodbye, I asked her if she remembered the first book that was read to her. I was curious as my last weeks post was on that topic and she was about to go to her bookclub. It took her some hard thinking. As if it was the most normal thing in the world she replied:
“I can’t remember as I taught myself to read at the age of four!”
Not the answer I expected! It made me laugh and replied that the time had come to share my online writings with her as well.
Where does learning to write begin? Exactly. With the language
On reading the book “Language is really my thing” from Dutch writer Pauline Cornelisse I felt a little jealous. Pages long she analyzed, reflected and shared her thoughts on just one word or an expression.
“ Language makes everything clear, but if you listen to it carefully you will hear what people rather not want to say; who they are.”
As I let these words sink in, it made me think that language goes beyond putting a message into words. It is a way to be yourself in depth and at the same time expose yourself to the outside world. If you dare! So growing up in a multilingual environment language was inseparable connected to my identity. Weeks ago I had already been asking myself which part of my identity, I had hidden all these years in my way of speaking and writing. Unraveling the way I learnt how to write and dealing with the response of my surrounding, made me come to a closer understanding.
The development of your writing style starts at an early age without you being aware of it
When I was four years old my learning of the Dutch language was set by a group of children who spoke with a local accent. I quickly adopted that accent. So I mostly learnt the language through listening. Talking in the Dutch language in this accent, would not only influence my vocabulary but also my writing. And I had proof of that. Written proof. A box full with old school notebooks and diaries. Browsing through that box one particular school notebook struck me. On the first page I had written with my best left handed writing:
I often need to take this difficult words notebook home, so I can learn how to write these words properly
Marked with correctional dots, this long sentence contained two crucial spelling mistakes. When it came down to proper spelling, I had still a long road ahead of me. Little did I know then, that this spelling issue would haunt me all the way into my adulthood. To understand what must have been going through my mind at that age, I looked through a few childhood diaries.The first few I browsed in, were written in Dutch. I must have been around eight or nine years old. It contained reports of my daily life, like who I had played with or about another row I had with my older brother. My eyes stopped gazing through the pages and I let the next sentence sink in:
“Apa is angry because I have again a five (which is a bad mark..) for spelling again.”
On reading this a shiver went through me and at the same time I felt empathy towards my younger self. Here I found proof that the urge to write correctly kept me already busy! I continued browsing in other diaries and came to the next discovery. Around the age of ten I stopped writing in Dutch. Instead I wrote in Hungarian. It surprised me as I had no recollection as why I decided to switch my writing language. To make things clear: I never went to a Hungarian school. I learnt how to write and read Hungarian through reading the children’s books of my mother and the bible we ready daily. Spending most of our time in the closeness of the Hungarian community, all contributed to my Hungarian writing skills. As I read through some pages, the first thing I noticed was the spelling and structure of the sentences. Really nothing was right. The order of words were literally translations out of Dutch. Strangely enough after all these years I understood what I had written. Had I already felt then that I was not doing well with the Dutch language? Or had I just a hard time dealing with living in two language worlds?
I realized that my diary had become my safe haven
In whatever language I wrote my diaries, I was able to write completely worry-free. Not bothered by what others commented on my spelling or the content. These thousands of sentences I had written gave a clear image of the hidden part of my identity. Including spelling mistakes and sentences that did not make sense. I was not perfect, and it was ok. In my diaries I could embrace my uncertainty which I often hid from the outside world. I could share pains that I kept away from the outside world. Not only the emotional pain but the physical pain I had trivialized all those years. I needed that save haven where I could be me. Where I did not had to worry of what other people thought of me and how I wrote. It was a place to vent emotions and thoughts. So I could deal with the daily harsh reality of having to receive constant feedback on my writings at school, throughout my student years and later working life. With this discovery a feeling of euphoria went through me. I knew I was on the right track in my conquest to finding back my writing style! So, despite what Pauline Cornelisse wrote above: if you read my writings carefully, you will see in between the lines who I am.
What comes next in my quest to find back my writing style?
To end with the wise words of the Ant: I have no idea and still grasping to understand what the meaning is of all my writings. But maybe, just maybe some of it does make sense to someone. And that might as well be you right now! So it is time to share my thoughts with a larger group of people.
If you want to follow my quest, you are very welcome to subscribe to my Substack page. It will give you a weekly update in your mailbox.