In 2017, Lighthouse started running Writing with Cancer (WWC), a workshop for folks living with a cancer diagnosis as well as their caregivers, and I was fortunate to lead the first few cohorts. Teaching this workshop meant a great deal to me; in 1991, I lost my mother to lung cancer. Needless to say, that experience was devastating, and yet it was the catalyst that turned me toward writing. Losing a parent so young (I was 24, she, 53) helped me discover that writing could be a way to make sense of unspeakable grief. This grief—and the memories of my mother—when captured on the page, allowed me to gain solace in the face of something so daunting.
This past fall, Lighthouse hosted a new WWC workshop led by Imran Shah, an avid writer, Lighthouse member, and nuclear physicist who specializes in therapeutic medical physics. I attended the first session, and was immediately heartened and healed by the generosity of spirit brought by the participants. I was deeply moved by the honesty and bravery that I heard in every piece of writing they shared. I learned, yet again, how writing in community is a powerful antidote to the pain and loneliness that we, especially those in active treatment for cancer, can feel every day.
As a follow-up, I interviewed Imran and Carolyn Jennings, a participant in the workshop and talented poet whom I’ve known for around 25 years, whose husband is in active treatment. She’s also the author of the poetry collection Hunger Speaks.
Q: What’s stayed with you, now that it’s a few months after the workshop?
Carolyn: WWC gave me a home not only for expressing things about the cancer journey that I usually don’t share with others but also for discovering things that I didn’t know I contained, didn’t know I needed to express or experience. Sometimes unexpected strong emotions arose. Other times startling writing flowed from my pen. This happened every single session.
Another aspect that has stayed with me is that I felt well heard—I could read, take up space and receive support. It was a generous and needed gift. I felt respected; my perspective was valued. I was happy to offer all that to the other writers when they read or spoke.
Imran: What’s stayed with me the most were our conversations about empathy. The need for empathy and understanding was common with all those who attended the workshop, and generally true for anyone dealing with a diagnosis as devastating and life altering as cancer.
What I learned: Empathy is not telling someone that it will be okay, or to look on the bright side, or how it could be much worse. Empathy is not telling them how strong they are, or how this will be over soon. Empathy is listening. Empathy is putting in the effort to understand. Empathy is creating space. Empathy is saying “this must be so hard” and really meaning it. Empathy can be a hug with no words. Empathy can be getting angry together about how terrible a diagnosis is. The right kind of empathy can make a world of difference.
Q: Often, the task at hand—to write freely for a short period of time—seems so straightforward, and yet what comes out is often surprising, as if it were penned by someone else. Has this been your experience?
Carolyn: Imran introduced us to flash fiction and gave us time to write a piece. In changing an experience into third person and forming it into a story, it brought out something magical, something bigger than me. It led to an ending that had been a thought I toyed around with in the back of my mind. I found the ending shocking and vulnerable, but it felt safe to give it a home in this story and it felt empowering to read it to the group. It seemed important to move something dark, tender and secret into the light.
Imran: I sit down to write something I had already thought of, but as the pen moves, the words take on a life of their own. One word leads to the next, to the next, and when I am done with the page, something else gets expressed that I wasn’t even aware of. Writing approached the right way can be a window into the subconscious. That “someone else” we see on the page is a part of us waiting to be heard.
Q: What was the biggest surprise for you in this workshop?
Carolyn: The biggest surprise came during the first session. I wrote about a shark circling in a pool of water in a closed cavern in my chest. I realized the shark is the incurable cancer circling, always there, always hungry, biding its time. It was kept in the dark because people want to look at the bright side, and not hear that my husband’s cancer will kill him.
This image came to me on the page and was also a sensation I could feel in my chest. In looking at the scene, I realized that the writing blew a hole in this closed cavern, sending sunlight down into the water, revealing the shark.
I was so struck by this image/sensation that I spoke about it with many people in the days after the session. Good awareness was awakened and with it, good healing and the ability to speak an unwelcome truth.
Imran: The biggest surprise was everyone’s willingness to be vulnerable and share their experience. I heard someone’s story about receiving a terminal cancer diagnosis in the emergency room; that the first thing on their mind was not “I am going to die,” but “who will take care of my children?” I learned how gut-wrenching it can be to watch someone you love wither away with cancer; how do you put on a brave face for the one you are caring for, when you don’t have a drop of strength or hope left in you? To me as a cancer caregiver, some of these stories are not new, as there is a universality to them. The surprise was that through their writing, and by actively listening to those around me, I was able to feel their emotions for the first time—in my heart and in the depths of my being.
Q: Is there anything else you’d like to say about the experience?
Carolyn: Imran and the participants co-created a welcoming space for writers of many levels of writing experience, different backgrounds and various cancers. Imran gave us readings and prompts that were unexpected and opened new channels within me, new ways of seeing, new ways of releasing.
Imran: This was probably one of the most rewarding experiences of my life—to be able to be there for someone struggling, to feel and share their emotions with them, to encourage them to express themselves through words, and in the process learning about aspects of myself that I would not have otherwise. In this divided society, it was a much-needed reminder that there is so much we have in common—in our shared humanity and in the shared burden of existence. Life is hard, but we don’t always have to do it alone. I am looking forward to the next class.
Program Overview
In partnership with UCHealth and Colorado Associates in Medical Physics (CAMP), we created Writing with Cancer workshops for those diagnosed with cancer and their caregivers. These workshops focus on generating new creative writing and also include discussions of language, the basics of craft, elements of story, and the value of having a writing practice. Participants are encouraged to connect with others in the group and to write often and freely on any subject they choose, relying on the belief that creative expression is a powerful way to help cope with the myriad emotions of a cancer diagnosis. Individuals who have been diagnosed with cancer and any caregivers are welcome to sign up for Lighthouse’s 8-Week Writing with Cancer spring workshop taught by Imran Shah and/or attend UCHealth’s monthly drop-in Writing with Cancer sessions.
Funding for Community Engagement programs like Writing with Cancer is provided by Colorado Associates in Medical Physics (CAMP) and UCHealth Anschutz. We rely on the generosity of organizations and community members like you. To donate to Lighthouse Writers Workshop, please click here.
