Or the story why I became a workshop facilitator for Writers Collective of Canada.
On November 27, 2023, the WCC asked me to deliver a speech to their funders, board members and other important people to explain what motivated me to continue volunteering for the organization for more years than I can count. This is what I said:
Before WCC, I never dared call myself a writer. I combined words and it made me feel something, but it felt like a dream that I kept on the side, a fire I dared not name passion, trying my best to keep this burning need inside me stifled, silenced, buried.
It was a word – something I called myself, on good days, on my best days, even though deep inside I felt it had no meaning nor truth behind it.
I suppose I came into WCC hoping it would give me just that, meaning and purpose. Really I came to WCC having just survived an abusive relationship that stole almost the entirety of my early twenties, and I was trying to find something that would make me want to wake up the next morning, without hating myself.
Just something to live for.
And so I asked myself, as in really asked myself: what’s the one thing I can do, out of anything, out of all the horrid things I’ve done, what is the one good thing I can do, that’s honest, isn’t rooted in malice or ill will? What can I do that I can’t ever look back on and wonder if I was wrong?
I can write. I can do that. I can do at least that.
And once I started writing, I started wondering, started thinking about my life, about my past before it slipped out of my reach – and found myself asking more questions: am I the abuser or am I the victim? Am I good or bad? Am I worthy or shameful?
And so I realized, I can ruminate as much as I want, or I can do something, just to prove that I’m good, that I’m a good person – desperate, yes, but it was that despair that made me start volunteering even though public speaking was one of my worst fears.
When I started, I used to be so nervous and I used to pray that no one would come because I was so afraid and nervous every time, but every time, every morning, I’d still show up, and they’d all still show up, no matter how much it snowed or rained, we all showed up, and eventually, it stopped feeling like work, it stopped feeling like fear, it stopped feeling like reassurance –it started feeling like a need, like I needed it as much as I needed air to breathe. Suddenly it was a part of me that was stronger than any other part of my body – even the parts that got amputated and shattered along the way – because ultimately, this is what WCC does for me, and for every person that writes –
It reminds us of who we are deep inside, without jobs, without family. Our contexts and past recedes in the background while this magic happens– the magic of stripping ourselves down to our most naked, vulnerable selves. We are at our most pure, authentic selves, that’s what writing does.
Ellise Ramos
It brings us back to ourselves, no matter how lost we got along the way.
And for that, sincerely, I thank you. I thank you so much for helping me understand why our voices are so important.
My volunteer profile at https://wcc-cec.org/team/ellise-ramos/
I also continue to facilitate writing workshops every Wednesday, from 11:30 am to 1 PM. It is FREE and is done virtually. Practice your craft with us – I promise you won’t regret it.
REGISTER FOR FREE HERE.
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