Dayna Macy is a memoir writer and author of Ravenous: A Food Lover’s Journey from Obsession to Freedom. She is the Founder of Women’s Writing Circles — a supportive community of women who come together to write their stories, speak their truth, and find their authentic voice.

In this blog, Dayna shares her story about shopping for her own Bat Mitzvah dress. She also offers a writing exercise and an invitation to a FREE WRITING CLASS this Wednesday, September 25th, 5:30 to 6:30 PM PT. Pre- Registration Required. Read on for more details!

I Remember

I remember the ivory gauze three-tiered dress trimmed with magenta, green and blue ribbons I wore for my Bat Mitzvah. I remember when we bought it — my mother took me to Bonwit Teller in New York, and I chose a black low-cut gown. My mother simply gave me the eye, grabbed my hand, said, “I don’t think so,” and pointed me to a different department. She loved that gauzy peasant dress. I preferred the black gown.

I remember the navy silk fitted halter dress I wore to a MOMA reception. I paired it with black stilettos and over-the-elbow black gloves. I remember loving that outfit way more than my date.

I remember the flannel shirt and jeans I wore when my husband and I got engaged. We drank good beer and listened to the Grateful Dead. It was a perfect day. I remember the sensual body-skimming silk-satin bias-cut wedding gown with pearl trim I wore to our wedding. The dress was a celebration of my curves and of my love for a man who promised to love all of me.

Clothes are a potent catalyst for memory. There’s something indelible about how they link us to key moments in our lives. Clothes matter. At their best, clothes are a direct creative expression of your aesthetic, of who you are, and how you want to present yourself in the world.

How we express ourselves visually varies widely from human to human. When my mother was alive (and she loved Alembika and gave me my first piece), she wore a veritable jungle of animal prints: zebra, giraffe, and especially her beloved leopard. She found these prints exotic and sexy. Combining them with other colors and big jewelry brought her joy. I admired her!

But for me? Not so much. I have always been a minimalist. I moved from NYC 35 years ago to the Bay Area, but I’m still hard pressed to wear anything other than black. “You dress for funerals,” my mother would say to me, telling me I lacked imagination.

I disagreed. For one, black is not simply black — there’s cut, drape, fabrics, textures, and proportions to consider, as well as how it lays on my body. I’m a voluptuous girl, and while I deeply admire women who show what they’ve got, I prefer to let others imagine what lies beneath. I am not, however, a minimalist when it comes to lipstick. I never met a black outfit that didn’t improve with a scarlet smile — my favorite duet. When I dress this way, I feel beautiful and strong.

Dressing in a minimalist style simplifies choice, and in this last third of my life, when time becomes more precious, I want to spend less time thinking about what to wear and more time living. I have family and friends to love, books to write, classes to teach, walks to take, and doing what I can to help our beautiful, ailing planet.

In my work leading Women’s Writing Circles, we use a simple and deep practice to get through writer’s block and meet our authentic selves on the page. I read a poem, I offer a line or two from the poem as a prompt, and then we write, pen to paper, quickly and steadily for a short amount of time. Our aim is not to write well, but to simply write. Our goal is only to tell our truth. When we’re done, we take turns reading out loud. No one comments. No one makes suggestions. Rather, we listen with kindness and care.

Being heard is deeply healing, and I’ve seen all sorts of magic happen in our circles. When we meet our authentic selves and voices on the page, it can be revealing and profound.

I’ve noticed that clothing memories often show up in our writing — certain outfits bring us back to specific relationships, times and places in our lives. “I remember my mother’s flamboyant red coat she wore for many years. ‘I’ll always know where to find you,’ I told her.” “I remember the tiered, peach-colored chiffon dress my mother wore to our wedding, so ethereal she seemed to float as she walked me down the aisle…”

I often use the beautiful poem “I Remember,” by Joe Brainard, when I start a new writing circle:

“I remember the only time I ever saw my mother cry. I was eating apricot pie…..I remember a very poor boy who had to wear his sister’s blouses to school….”

It’s a great first poem because the jump-off line we use is “I remember,” and it’s a wide open prompt. The line is an open invitation into memory.

Below is Joe’s poem in its entirety. I invite you to do your own simple practice (full instructions below). Remember clothes you’ve worn, where you were, what you were doing, how you felt — whether heartbroken or joyful, whether at a wedding or a funeral, or your first day of fourth grade. Let your pen take you into yourself. Be curious. Meet yourself with respect, without judgment, and with kindness. We are all so much more than we know.

I Remember by Joe Brainard

I remember the only time I ever saw my mother cry. I was eating apricot pie.

I remember how much I used to stutter.

I remember the first time I saw television. Lucille Ball was taking ballet lessons.

I remember Aunt Cleora who lived in Hollywood. Every year for Christmas she sent my brother and me a joint present of one book.

I remember a very poor boy who had to wear his sister’s blouses to school.

I remember shower curtains with angel fish on them.

I remember very old people when I was very young. Their houses smelled funny.

I remember daydreams of being a singer all alone on a big stage with no scenery, just one spotlight on me, singing my heart out, and moving my audience to total tears of love and affection.

I remember waking up somewhere once and there was a horse staring at me in the face. I remember saying “thank you” in reply to “thank you” and then the other person doesn’t know what to say.

I remember how embarrassed I was when other children cried.

I remember one very hot summer day I put ice cubes in my aquarium and all the fish died.

I remember not understanding why people on the other side of the world didn’t fall off.

Writing Practice

You can do this practice solo or with a trusted friend. (If you write with a friend, you will read your work aloud to each other. No one comments, the listener simply holds the space.)

What you’ll need:

Ten minutes of quiet

A pen

Some paper or a journal. (I recommend pen and paper instead of your computer. It is a more visceral experience.)

1. Read the poem below out loud.

2. Choose the line “I remember” as a jump off line from the poem.

3. Read the poem aloud one more time —then…

4. Set your timer to ten minutes and begin writing. Pen doesn’t leave the page.

5. Keep your belly soft. Say yes to what arises. If you’re stuck use the line, “Here’s what I want to say”… and keep writing. When the time is done, put the pen down. Take a few deep breaths, then…

6. Read your piece aloud to yourself. Reading aloud helps your words land in your body and own your words. If reading with a trusted friend, simply listen and hold the space with kindness.

7. Take a few breaths. Your practice is now complete.

FREE CLASS

Wednesday, September 25th, 5:30 to 6:30 PM PT. PRE- REGISTRATION REQUIRED:

HTTPS://us06web.zoom.us/meeting/register/tZEpd-6urDgtHNxmrG7x-U3UM9iwQ9yhlvH7

In this hour together, you will get a feel for this practice and know if it speaks to you. We will do a writing practice to several poems and if you are moved to share your writing, the circle will listen with open arms— without feedback or comments. In this practice, we’re not trying to improve, we simply express our truth.

New eight-week Women’s Writing Circle series begins October 2nd on Zoom, 5:30 to 7 pm PT. cost: $360 for eight week series. More info: https://www.daynamacy.com/writing-circles

To register or if you have questions: Email Dayna! dayna@daynamacy.com

More about Dayna

In her Women’s Writing Circles, Dayna teaches a free-style writing practice that encourages women to express their truth and find their authentic voice. Recently she was invited to teach a series of classes and give talks on Paradise Island in the Bahamas about “Writing as a Spiritual Practice” to a group of students who wanted to explore the relationship between writing and spirituality.