STAY IN THE ROOM

STAY IN THE ROOM

STAY IN THE ROOM

STAY IN THE ROOM STAY IN THE ROOM STAY IN THE ROOM

HANNA GLOVER foreword by JOSHUA LUKE SMITH

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STAY IN THE ROOM HANNA GLOVER foreword by JOSHUA LUKE SMITH

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STAY IN THE ROOM

Written by Hanna Glover Published by Orphan No More Publishing Copyright © Hanna Glover & Orphan No More 2020 All rights reserved Photography & Design: Toby Mitchell Editing & Proofreading: Gunilla Glover & Samuel Strong Printed: Fountain Print

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So stay, I tell her.

Feel the pain but don’t run away.

Stay, because your story didn’t end then and it’s not going to end now.

- to myself

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword ....................................... 2 Prologue ........................................ 3 Stay in the Room ............................ 5 ONE - BEING PRESENT

TWO - LETTING GO

Here and Now ............................... 9

Watching ....................................... 36

Remain Present .............................. 12

This Ache ....................................... 37

Slow Down .................................... 13

Puddles ......................................... 38

My Essential Self ............................ 15

Pure .............................................. 39

Details .......................................... 17

Restless .......................................... 41

The Secret Place ............................. 19

This Little Dreamer ........................ 43

My Old Friend .............................. 22

The Last Time ................................ 46

Coming Back ................................. 23

You Took My Voice Away ................ 47

He is Good .................................... 25

Fall Apart ...................................... 50

I Woke up to the Sound of a Thunderstorm ................................ 27

Good Riddance .............................. 51

The Becoming ................................ 28 The Morning ................................. 30 Time to Rest .................................. 31

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I Took a Bath in the Afternoon ....... 54 I Have not Lost Me ........................ 55 Autumn Came Again ..................... 57

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THREE - DANCING AGAIN Springtime ................................... 62 Consumed .................................... 63 Wild One, You Are Possible ........... 66 You Will Love Again ..................... 67 October 18th ................................ 68 Colours ........................................ 69 New Stories .................................. 72 Looking Up .................................. 73 Grace ........................................... 76 My Soul Has Found Home ............ 77 She Was, She Is ............................. 79 Familiar ...................................... 81 Steady On .................................... 82 Epilogue ....................................... 83 Our Journey ................................. 85 Acknowledgements ........................ 87

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Foreword

by Joshua Luke Smith

There is an ache in all of us to feel the warmth of acceptance, belonging and safety. I know this to be true because I feel it in myself, much more often than I care to admit. This is the angst that comes with searching for our place in the world. Since the moment we bellowed our first cry we have been on a pilgrimage, so to speak, in the discovery of what the great George McDonald called... “our name�.

Often, the paths we walk are anything but kind. We encounter unforgiving terrain, thieves in the night and helplessly surrender to the storms of each day. The bitter taste of disappointment, rejection and abandonment linger on dry lips as we crawl on desert floors, burnt by the sun, in search of water and an oasis for our souls.

Well, my fellow pilgrim, search no further. This collection of poems, that my precious friend Hanna has so courageously written, is nothing short of that cool taste of healing, hope and home that we all so desperately seek. Within the vulnerable pages of her story, Hanna illuminates the path towards wholeness. In the sharing of her breaking she pours healing balm on our wounds and in the telling of her desert journey, she draws a map so that weary pilgrims, (just like you and I) can find our way back to cool waters and find refreshment once again.

Perhaps the acceptance that we seek begins with the mantras we speak.

Stay in the Room has the power to do that. These simple yet profound poems are manifestos of belonging, proclamations of identity and the bold and unabridged announcement that rejection will not have the final word.

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Prologue

In moments of danger human beings have two natural responses - to fight or flee. Ingrained into our very biology, this reaction is inevitable.

In my life I have found that the response to emotional pain has been very much the same. I have learned that fighting my pain instead of letting it lead me into healing is a sure way to keep it around for longer than it needs to. The fighting and running are very similar to me, in a way they are actually the same thing. Running away from it is ignoring it, pretending it doesn’t exist and acting like you are unaffected.

I have clear memories of being ten years old hiding behind my house, running away from chaos. Whenever something was too difficult for me to bear I would get away from it as fast as I could. But then I would find myself alone, isolated and overflowing with shame. And fear; fear that people, even my parents, would see the real me and reject me. I began to believe that I would not, could not, be accepted in my weakness. As the years have gone on this habit of mine manifested itself in real life and real relationships.

When I got older the running away looked like working hard, being busy and trying to always be the happiest or the loudest person in the room.

On the outside I was saying; “I’m fine, life is great, don’t worry about me.” But on the inside I felt turmoil, so when it all became too much all I wanted to do was get away from it as fast as possible. I didn’t want people to see that I was hurting, because I hated the feeling of being exposed and that people would see me beyond my mask of perfection.

Because of this, I have spent most of my life leaving the room. I have spent most of my life running from pain by numbing it through various means. Eventually, I found though that the running away never stopped the pain from existing, in fact, it seemed to only become louder.

Just before the publication of my first book, My Voice, in 2016, I was challenged to not leave the room. At the time I was living in Canada, going to a ministry school in Toronto. Whilst getting ready for the day I got a phone call from my mom telling me that my grandfather had passed away. There is nothing that equips or prepares you for losing someone you love and even though it wasn’t a sudden death I was still in shock. Nearly instantaneously I was going through the motions in my head of what I was going to do to cope. I was going to lie on my bed and isolate myself - I was not going to let people see me. That was the plan; I was going to hide.

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Much to my frustration, I got encouraged to not do this. I was told to go to class and not hide my grief from others. I was encouraged to lean into the community around me and be real. Reluctantly, I did this. I arrived for class, surprised (and annoyed) to find out the teaching that day was going to be on vulnerability. I sat in the back literally gripping on to the chair to stop myself from running away. Not only was I encouraged to go to class and be present but I was encouraged to feel the pain and to do something about it. My most natural response was to write, so I scribbled a poem about my grandfather. It was cathartic, this letting go and wrestle with the urge I felt within to run from it all. And a few weeks later, this very poem that I had written on my hands and knees in the midst of grief somehow opened the door to the publication of my first book. Out of this place of sadness one of my greatest dreams unfolded - God had literally turned my mourning into dancing.

My dear friend, the book in your hands is an honest story, a story of staying in the room. If the past couple of years have taught me anything it’s that leaning into my pain has brought me the freedom I have longed for all along. Choosing to dig deep instead of putting on a brave face takes honest courage. It’s easy to leave, it’s easy to fight and numb the anguish, but there is a better way.

This is the story of when I chose to stay in the room. When I chose to finally be honest with the person in the mirror, to undo every filter I had seen myself, others and God through. Staying in the room is Being Present in seasons of uncertainty and confusion. It means Letting Go of pain, letting go of shame and letting go of fear. It’s the journey of finding unbridled joy again when you had believed all was lost - it means Dancing Again.

I have learnt something that has caused me to unlearn everything else. I have found a love that has triumphed over my every defeat, a love that accepts me as I am and a love that is not afraid of my brokenness. A love that will not leave me as I am but will stay in the room for as long as it takes, until I am not afraid anymore and I am whole again.

Here’s to wholeness, vulnerability, and hope.

Here’s to staying in the room.

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STAY IN THE ROOM

I feel myself shrinking, I hear those familiar voices becoming louder and louder.

They are telling me to run.

They are telling me to escape this pain this pain that calls me by name.

For all these years, I have been looking into this mirror, looking at what I thought was my true self through broken shards of glass.

And I have allowed this cracked view to become my identity, the very breath giving life inside of me.

Making me lower these eyes in shame and put up these hands in defence.

For all these years I have left; this very room, this very house, this very heart of mine, behind, in search for freedom.

But I’m not running anymore, I’m telling myself to stay.

Because I can no longer scream louder than these wounds, I’m tired of fighting, I’m tired of running.

So I’m learning the beauty of staying.

Stay, until these walls are healed and the shade of love, until these wooden floors are grounded on truth.

I’ll stay in the room.

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Until “I am loved” becomes the motivation of what I do, until I’m leaning so deeply that I learn to trust again, until these shackles of shame are no longer my friend.

And these scars of past mistakes are silenced by the loudest triumph of total acceptance.

I’m staying here, taking the time to put together this mirror once broken, to see my true reflection.

I’m walking slow into a new resurrection, back into the life I was always meant to live of freedom.

I’m staying in the room, tasting my pain to find my healing, falling down on my knees to learn to stand on these feet, and weeping heavy tears to declare that one day my joy will be louder than my fears.

Here, the very place I have learned to escape I will stay.

Here, the very place I have kept you out, I will welcome you in to unravel me and make me new.

To scream victory over the war waged by my enemy, to rebuild this broken mirror so I can see the real me.

Remind me of the things I already know, that in you there is no where I can go; in you this soul has already found its home.

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ONE BEING PRESENT

You brought me home, and this word has travelled from the soles of my feet to the palms of my hands.

I can feel it now.

I can finally feel it, in the stillness.

- coming home

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A month after I published My Voice I found myself on a plane back home to Sweden from Canada. It was a time of grieving in a way, saying goodbye to friends and a place that had become so close to my heart and completely transformed me. I had no idea what was next for me. If anyone knows me well, they know that I don’t like not having a plan. I felt quite lost to be honest and unsure where I was going in life. I knew I wanted to continue writing after releasing My Voice, I just didn’t know what that looked like. Slowly I settled back into normal life, I got a job and wrote whenever I had a chance.

I had just written my first book and all I wanted was for people to acknowledge me and it felt like I was hidden. It felt like I’d been running ahead and suddenly everything came to a standstill. Within this season, that I called the “In Between” God challenged me to be still. He beckoned me to go back to simplicity. I was angry and confused, I didn’t understand why life looked like this and why I felt so stuck. I had no idea what I was doing, where He was leading me and it was difficult to believe that He even would. But it was in this season, when I didn’t know what was going to happen next, where I began to understand the power of being present. I began to gain a deep understanding of what it meant to fall back in love - by letting love be in control. I didn’t have it figured out, and I started to become okay with that. I became okay with being in this moment, not knowing where I was going to be the next. This was a season of reckoning with my worth; realising it did not come from what I could do or prove. I was learning that I was loved - not for what I could do but who I was.

This part of the story is when I learned to stay present. When every part of me was desperate to figure it all out, I chose to be still. Where I slowed down and finally stopped striving. I stayed in the room, even though the room was boring, uneventful and definitely not what I had hoped for. I chose to be faithful with the little I had and to be present in a season I very much didn’t understand.

This is where I learned the beauty of staying in the room as I welcomed Him into every inch of the uncertainty, the uncomfortable and the unknown. Here is where I learned to be still and know.

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HERE AND NOW

I love you, or at least I’m trying to.

The idea of you; the here and now, I must embrace you.

The fear of losing memories of the sweetest love, has got me tripping on the realness of this present one.

I don’t want to forget it, the adventure we have found ourselves on.

But I have switched paths and I’m trying to gain my footing again.

To trust or not is no longer the question but to simply remember that the here and now is not against me, or trying to hurt me.

And loving and honouring you means letting go but not forgetting.

I choose you today, maybe one day my heart will follow.

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REMAIN PRESENT

22:04.

I have a lot to be thankful for, I really do.

I am breathing, I have a family, I have dreams coming true.

I vowed to love the process, a promise I never knew the weight of and now it is too hefty to hold.

I promised to remain present. remain; abide; keep on; prevail.

How does one find victory in waiting?

How am I to prevail by lingering?

At a standstill, my heart is such a landslide.

And I guess, nobody ever taught me the beauty of remaining, abiding and being.

I guess, I have found too much love, in striving, fighting and leaving. Help me.

I want to be all here, in this moment to abide in you as you abide in me.

It doesn’t make sense to scream “I trust you�, to lift my clenched hands in surrender with my head tilted up but my eyes downcast.

But, I want to come home, and learn to remain present, trusting; trusting this process, trusting you, to hold me and keep me.

So, I will carry on even if it means merely sitting in your presence.

Because I want to be present when you are pouring out your love on me, so I will remain.

22:16.

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SLOW DOWN

Open up the blinds, draw the curtains and feel the morning air fill your lungs.

Let the light meet you again and remind you of how far you’ve come.

Remind yourself that you’ve already done enough.

Be still and take note of your heartbeat.

Here, is where I want to meet you.

Slow down, remind yourself of why you’re here, remind yourself of light, and breathe in a new day.

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MY ESSENTIAL SELF

Here I lie, in the stillness.

I come back.

I come back to my essential self, the one I’ve been searching for all along.

Amongst fallen walls and failed plans, she stands still.

You brought me back to her, the simplicity.

My bare self, her vulnerability echoes courage and her silence shouts victory.

She is, has been, waiting to be found.

I lost her on the road of trying to prove myself.

I lost her when I chose perfection over reality and I deserted her to her own means to survive.

Amongst the thorns and dying flowers, she was there waiting to come back.

The essential self; writing on paper and taking her time.

Present and fully alive.

Hopeful and full of love.

Where have you been? I ask her, when the truth is, why did I ever let you go?

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DETAILS

You are in the details.

You are in the early bloom, the process; pushing and fighting through the dirt.

You are there.

You are in the late autumn winds, that are all too familiar; when my roots go down to depths I’ve never known, holding on for dear life.

You are in the chaos, my forest full of wounds, the very house of my greatest pain, unravelling me like a flower.

But I’ve been so afraid to bloom, to come to being, becoming and fully believing.

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But inch by inch you pull me apart and I’m learning that winter doesn’t always mean darkness, that spring doesn’t always look the way I thought it would.

But you meet me in the season of my soul, cold or warm, a little mix of both.

You nurture these budding leaves and rake away the dead in me.

You hide away in the details of my heart and bring clarity to my confusion.

When the sun shines, when the rain falls, there you are catching my heart.

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THE SECRET PLACE

Unseen, covered.

Kept hidden for so long.

The damp smell of the cave has become familiar.

I have learnt to build fire with sticks, I have learnt to make music with rocks, and paint these cave walls.

I have run away from my enemies.

They try to throw spears and I have been forced to find safety.

But it is here, in this cave of darkness, that you have been making me.

Barren and cold, I learned to run to you for warmth.

Dark and abandoned, I learned to run to you for light.

When everything was stripped from me, you clothed me.

When everyone was against me, you were on my side.

Through it all, through it all you have been building me.

Because in the sacredness of my hiddenness, you taught me to love your name.

In the secret of growth and stretching, you showed me who I really was.

My identity was not a secret, but you have kept me hidden; to prepare this heart for something greater.

You built me in the secret place, to display me on a greater space.

I will trust you in the secret place, in this dark cave.

It is here I will sing of your faithfulness, and it is here you will cover me with your love.

I may be hidden, but never from your sight.

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MY OLD FRIEND

I’ve ignored you for awhile.

Not on purpose, I might add.

But I’ve been so consumed, conflicted and confused to pick up a pen and write.

The night it finds me, the morning too.

The days they pass like they’re supposed to.

I forget you, in the midst of dark clouds, happy tears and future plans.

I let you fall, when I so desperately want you to be with me always.

My human soul forgets but never for too long.

So I pick up my pen, I drink some coffee, and I write:

My old friend, I’ve missed you.

My old friend, let’s keep in better touch.

My old friend, I’ll never leave again.

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COMING BACK

It’s been awhile since it’s been just you and I. I guess I let these fears become louder than everything else, I let this guilt and shame become louder than your voice.

I want to come back, but I’ve got a lot of questions.

I’m wrestling with every unhealed part of me, trying to stay present with the real me.

I want to be with you, but I still don’t fully understand you.

I know everything they have told me you are, but there’s something different about you now.

You are different to me now.

I still need this to look different, I need to feel differently.

I don’t feel like singing songs, or hearing anyone preach to me.

Give me something real, something I can hold onto.

I’m coming back, but I don’t know where I’m going.

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HE IS GOOD

I find you again, here in a bed of my own making, of thoughts too heavy to unload.

I am surprised, because you keep coming back.

My walls built high, have fallen and the rumble doesn’t turn you away.

I was not searching, oh this cry of my soul was not loud and laid out.

My words rarely make sense, but my heart it rumbles like the belly of the ocean, assured that there is more, there is always more.

I was not convinced, that it was my doing of cautiousness, or my perfectly picked out plan.

Nothing of the sort.

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I was found again, in the trenches of war, when everything had gone silent with blood in my mouth and wounds covering me.

In the midst of man-made isolation, and thought out rejection.

I was found by love much greater than any prize, a love that begged me to dream again, to actually use my eyes and see.

That He is good, He is good to me.

I found Him again, here in a bed of my own making, of thoughts too heavy to unload.

I am laughing, because He is good, always good to me.

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I WOKE UP TO THE SOUND OF A THUNDERSTORM

I woke up to the sound of a thunderstorm.

Wrapped up and eyes barely open, shadows danced across my room as raindrops crashed heavily on my window sill.

And I’ve been tired lately, here in this bed I’ve made for myself.

I have been told to accept it, to wrap these covers around me and just be okay.

But, these angry raindrops are reminding me that maybe it’s okay to crash in like a gale force wind, it’s okay to fall unexpectedly, it’s okay to be angry, it’s okay to be a little rough right now.

I woke up to the sound of a thunderstorm, and I’m waking up to myself.

Fully here, fully present and fully alive.

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THE BECOMING

Here you are becoming, in the in-between, the moment when the wave hasn’t crashed, between your inhale and exhale.

Here, in the uneasy, uncomfortable and unplanned.

Here, is where your growth begins.

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THE MORNING

The morning it meets me where I am the rain it falls at my feet but I am untouched.

The sky it clouds over like a child covering its eyes, the sun it hides from me today.

But I have been looking, oh this soul has been watching.

The barren land I see has become green.

This spring I’ve been waiting for has become real.

The time I see, meets me where I am and is holding me with open hands.

The glory of the present is washing away the struggle of the past.

You see, what I thought would be never was and what I wanted to be, I could never become.

So the morning it meets me, raw and weary, aching in these bones you gave me.

The morning it meets me, my grey eyes and fumbling hands, trying to keep some sort of plan.

The morning is dark and rainy, the morning is not what I thought it would be.

But the morning it meets me and tells me; that beauty comes from growing through the wet cold ground, that life is being nurtured in the sounds of water falling and what I thought was my destruction, was actually my becoming.

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TIME TO REST

The sun pushes past the tall trees and it chooses me.

Here I am breathing in all the light it kindly shares.

These weary feet are still learning to rest.

To lay down the have-to-do’s and must-not’s for peace and stillness.

And I am still reaching for simplicity, learning the rhythms of being content.

I have spent so much of my life, building, running and striving.

But I feel the sun telling me, it’s time to live, breathe and rest.

The sun reminds me of who I used to be, and I walk towards wholeness, taking my voice with me with courage and bravery.

Because the rains may come, but the sun will always shine again.

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TWO LETTING GO

I am unlearning the lies spoken in cruelty, unlearning the belief that my very existence is too much to handle, that I am weak and fragile.

I am learning the truth spoken in love, learning to believe that I am perfect as I am, and that is in fact who I have always been.

- a life long lesson

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When I learned to be still, I began to look into this mirror that was shattered and dusty. Due to years of running from my pain, I couldn’t see my real reflection, I couldn’t see the real me. Letting go was rebuilding this mirror, letting go of false beliefs and lies. Letting go of disappointments, failures and heartbreak. The letting go required me to stay in the room to look at these things, turn them over in my hands, get angry and hand them over to my healer. I couldn’t just let them go, I had to really let them go. Which meant deeply forgiving myself and others for the wounds I had.

I had never wanted to run away more than when I was learning to let go.

There I was finally looking into this mirror and facing what I didn’t want to face. I realised the lies I believed about myself had become louder than the truth. It was humbling to come face to face with the brokenness I felt about myself and facing it was the last thing I wanted to do. However, I knew the Father was kind enough to walk through it with me, to take me by the hand and lead me through the darkest valley. I knew this was a ‘Kairos’ moment; a moment like no other and a moment that could change me forever.

Part of this process was learning to trust. Learning to believe the truth about myself even though it felt so foreign due to all the years anchored in the untruth. It was uncomfortable, awkward and at times felt like I was just stumbling through. But we have such a patient Father, who will sit with us for as long as it takes to undo everything that holds us back from being our true selves. This is the part of my story where I learned the true nature of vulnerability and began to understand that pain demands to be felt to lead to healing. Wholeness requires intentionality and discipline, it requires us to stay in the room even when it feels like we are at the end of ourselves. Which, despite what it may sound like, is a great place to be because within the stripping of all what isn’t us, we are being made into who we truly are.

This is where I learned to let go, the season I grappled with perfection and began to shake off the shackles of shame.

This was my awakening, when I could finally look in that mirror and see my true self; beloved.

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WATCHING

I’ve been watching from my window, as your leaves have changed.

You were green and full of life, the summer winds they kissed you.

And despite the rise and fall you stood strong; breathing in and breathing out.

The days got colder with the orange light dancing into the early night and with it you danced into this change, scared of what it might mean but brave enough to face the transition.

You were golden, light and beautiful, and it’s complicated.

Because this is death and life in one simple line.

You shine as you die but you trust the winds that slowly strip you down.

You learn that maybe the loss, the exposure is preparation for greater things.

That in your vulnerability; shaken by the very winds you so despise you learn to love them, knowing they are bringing you home.

And the time will come when you will forget the winter; the winds with their deadly kiss and you will know that this is what it takes to live.

This is what it takes to live; to die, and to come back to life.

To lay down your beautiful fiery leaves, with the hope that the letting go, the embrace and the reckoning of your bones will bring you back to the very core of who you are.

Then you will see that your roots are what make you strong, and this change is not your enemy, it’s your stepping stone.

I’ve been watching from the window, watching you unfold, letting go will be one of the greatest stories told.

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THIS ACHE

This unfamiliar ache is actually so familiar.

This emptiness has become louder than before, as it is just void of the things that I used to mask it.

Empty of all the addictions that I used to numb it.

This familiar emptiness calls me by name, and I feel like it’s about time I face the pain.

It’s about time I kill this ache.

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PUDDLES

There I lay, I see it now, how broken and undone.

I’ve spent years sowing into this idea of perfection hoping one day it would yield some fruit but it never did.

Much to my surprise, I’ve learned a lot through messiness.

Their little hands grab hold of mine, with no intentions, just reaching out.

They seem to not be concerned with tomorrow’s plans or the fact that their clothes are soaked through.

But I myself have been found in the rain, too afraid to lose what I thought was comfort and too ashamed to be lost in any sort of wonder.

You speak to me in images, in faces and daily cups of coffee.

And these rain puddles you are inviting me to jump into are starting to feel irresistible.

You have been asking me to lose all sense of put-togetherness that I hold with pride.

Letting go seems a lot like risking it all, because it means I can’t go back.

I’ve spent the last ten months learning what it means to be weak again, in a greater sense, I have found what it means to be strong again.

Today, I run out into the rain and jump in the puddles.

I’m cold, wet and dirty, but I’m free.

Finally free.

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PURE

I see her lying in that bed of regret and guilt your hands all over her as if you owned her, but she was never yours to have.

Still you wrapped your arms around her like a snake, declaring that her love was yours to take.

And there she stands with these wounds; as if your hands are still all over her skin like constellations covering the night becoming the darkest shade of shame and the loudest pain.

But she is learning to forgive, to clean these dirty sheets and these dirty feet.

She is beginning to wash it all away, and remind herself that it’s not over.

She can start again.

So she opens up the window and lets in the fresh air to clean out this dusty old room.

She lets it all go; the regret, the shame, the voice telling her she isn’t worthy, that she is anything but holy.

And it blows into this old room and she comes alive, so fully alive and so fully loved.

It’s time to love again her soul says and her heart repeats a resounding yes.

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RESTLESS

I’m restless tonight, pacing back and forth.

Hand twitching, reaching for something, someone, anything.

I’ll be honest, I struggle with the silence, I struggle with the quiet floorboards creaking under my feet, there are no messages, no phone calls, no hugs, no ‘I’m sorry’s’ - no nothing.

She says when I laugh that I seem like I’m happier, that I seem like I’m getting through this but am I getting through this?

Because if I’m being honest it honestly feels like this is endless.

I’ve been restless, a little bit reckless caught in the heaviest tensions between choosing to run and choosing to stay, choosing this road or walking away.

I’m sorry I’ve been holding you at arms length.

I’m sorry I have turned my face every time you call my name.

The only thing that I can say is, “this was not supposed to be my story, I was supposed to be different.”

And when I slow down that’s when I feel it the weight of this disappointment.

So, I’m gritting my teeth, holding on to this desk with everything in me because if I can’t be honest with anyone I will be honest with myself; I will bleed and scream at these keys, I will doubt and shout every question that has always been answerless and I will preach to myself to declare my own gospel that still here I am possible and that light must be louder than darkness.

Light is louder than my darkness.

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I have been told I should wear more colours that black looks like I’m still mourning but the truth is I’ve only just given myself permission to be weak.

So I’ve been weeping for weeks, so, cut me at the knees, plant me in the ground and use these tears to water me because there will be growth in my grief.

And the pain it comes like waves consume, consume, but I’ve got nothing left to lose.

I may be weak but these wings were made for higher ground so I will soar above these raging seas and I will leave the chaos beneath me.

I will leave the chaos beneath me.

This room has been dark and lonely, but you have been sitting here with me.

It’s been like this for days but you say you’ll stay for as long as it takes.

And here I realise how long I’ve resisted letting the light in, because maybe then I will lose control and trusting you seems a lot like letting go but maybe that’s exactly the road back to myself, maybe that’s exactly the road back home.

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THIS LITTLE DREAMER

I prayed to the star, I begged that morning would find me at the right time.

The morning it came, just as I had wished.

My childlike footsteps, indeed this young soul, worked when everyone slept.

I made maps, I planned out journeys you see the doing seemed so innocent.

It all seemed so simple.

You see, I did not trust the sun to shine when it so pleased.

I did not let the ocean sweep over these little feet.

But how do I get back to a place I barely know?

How do I find my way on a journey so long forgotten?

How do I come back home?

You see, this little dreamer felt the tug of perfection nip at her heels and responded.

This little dreamer, forgot to sit and be in beds of flowers and fields of green.

Because the world would go on without her and she couldn’t risk being left behind, she couldn’t risk failing.

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This little dreamer grew up, the maps turned into a reality that could no longer be escaped.

Indeed these paths dreamed up are now being tread.

It all seems so normal; to walk, to run, to lose all sense of feeling in the race.

To be placed in a boat moving towards some destination you would rather not go to.

This little dreamer, thought she came to the end of the ocean but realised it never ends.

Now, she had no choice but to let go; of the maps, the plans, the fight.

Because freedom was found in uncharted waters and unplanned waves.

She finally found it.

The glory she had always been searching for, found her without her even doing anything but letting go.

She found home.

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THE LAST TIME

So we meet again, with cold hands and white skin.

I am shaking all over.

I thought I killed you already, I thought you had been in the grave rotting away.

But you crept up on me and I didn’t see you coming.

This urge to do something about this pain, to numb, punish, run away.

You see this heart of mine has felt so steady and beautiful, I have walked off these scars like they were nothing.

These battles I’ve fought became simply songs I’ve sung minutes not years.

But here I am, again with you in my hands, too close, you got too close this time.

Because He loves me as I am, He is slowly but surely saving me from myself or the things that are not me.

Stripping back these lies and fears until my raw self stands there, brave and vulnerable at the same time.

We met again last night, but it will be our last time meeting.

The last time.

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YOU TOOK MY VOICE AWAY

You took my voice away, you took these hands and made them calloused, you took this heart and told me I was damaged.

You took my joy away, you took this face in your hands and told me to quiet down, you took this laughter and told me I was too loud.

You took my confidence away, you took my plans and made me feel ashamed of them, you took these dreams and said I could never reach them.

You took my peace away, you took my pain and told me it was a lie, you took this mind and said it would never be fine.

You took my voice away.

Silenced me, tortured me, controlled me.

You took my voice away.

Because you felt threatened by the fire in my bones that could consume the flicker in yours, or, because you couldn’t stand someone so free in their joy you had to put them down or, because you were ashamed of what you had become so you controlled and called it love.

You took my voice away, how dare you even think that any part of me was yours to take, how dare you even feel any right to change who I was.

How. Dare.

You. You took my voice away.

But I’m taking it back, right now.

Undoing every curse you have spoken, unravelling every lie you have screamed, walking away from everything you said I had to be, taking back the real me.

You took my voice away, but I’ve got it back now and it’s not going anywhere.

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FALL APART

Fall, crumble, break.

Stand in the eye of this hurricane.

Let every gust of wind knock you over let it send you to your knees.

Feel every ounce of this pain, let every inch of this destruction cover you, overwhelm you and own you.

Let the noise give you space to scream, scream, scream it out.

Weep, weep it out until you can no longer breathe.

Feel weak, this is not the time to be strong, or perfect or clean.

Say every bad word and let your mouth bleed.

Let it all hang out; all the disappointment, all the rage, all the sadness.

Scream at the chaos around you, the chaos you never asked for, the pain you never wanted, the abuse you never deserved.

Let it all go, until you feel something else, until the dust has settled and you are breathing again.

But until then, it’s okay to fall apart, it’s okay to crumble, it’s okay to break.

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GOOD RIDDANCE

I’m walking away, shaking off the shackles of you that still remain.

Letting go of, the words you spoke that I can still taste.

I’ve burned it all, watched it all disintegrate in the fire and flames.

I cursed your name, but it carried no weight, when I thought of all the things I let you take.

I am letting it go.

Every good choice turned failure, every good intention turned painful interaction, every good day turned dark and grey.

Good riddance.

Good riddance my dear.

I keep reminding myself of the past year and I do not feel regret or remorse.

But a deep understanding that you could never know what it was like to be me, that you could never understand what it felt like to stand on the other side of your love.

Good riddance.

I’m cleaning out the closet, emptying out the boxes, throwing away the locket.

All of it.

You said no other man could love me, but it was you who couldn’t love me.

Good riddance of that lie, and every single moment you chose to ignore the plank in your eye pointing out the twig in mine.

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I TOOK A BATH IN THE AFTERNOON

I took a bath in the afternoon.

I undressed, I threw your clothes and words in the bin, I looked at the mark on my chest and the bruise on my hip.

I soaked in the warm water up to my chin.

I read my own poetry and I welcomed in my own body.

I bathed in my own glory.

I soaked for hours.

Until the feeling of your hands on my body turned cold.

Until the feeling of your fingertips and the sound of your voice dissolved like the bubbles and went down the drain.

I soaked.

Until every piece of me that you took returned and there I stood up from the bath.

Cleansed and free.

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I HAVE NOT LOST ME

I woke up a little late, my eyes are a little too heavy, my footsteps are little too loud.

Out of touch, out of sync, out of tune.

Where are you, my old heart?

These rain drops fall and ask me to do the same, let go of who I think I’m supposed to be.

I settle on this window and watch the race, the flying by and the confidence of those around me.

I miss the contagiousness of the steadiness in my soul, repeating; hope, hope, hope.

Tangibly in my hands, pulsing through me.

I’m trying to write the right words, the right way of saying things, of phrasing the thoughts in my mind.

Where are you, my old home?

My home on the sea, the sunshine over the waves, reminding me to be brave.

Maybe you are not gone, I just don’t see you as clearly as before but please remind me of who I am.

That I am not too far gone, that I am not lost, that hope has always been there waiting.

That you are in the waiting, in the process, in the grief and pain.

I have not lost you, I have not lost me.

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AUTUMN CAME AGAIN

Autumn came again, change with the wind.

Stepping into newness, whilst letting go of the old.

Blowing through, blowing away.

Autumn came again, slowly, then all at once.

This dream in my head, falling like leaves on the ground.

Puzzle pieces, a missing piece to the puzzle.

Autumn came again, maybe she’s here to stay.

Like frost on the grass, frost on my lips.

Autumn came again, the wind trickles under my feet and lifts me to higher ground.

Autumn came again, and for that I am grateful.

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THREE DANCING AGAIN

When it seemed my dreams had died at the knife of my circumstance, you resurrected them and taught me to dance.

You told me, it’s time to hope again.

- a new season

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On my darkest days I never thought I would be able to hope again. But still in the middle of the darkness, I saw light. I saw His hand reaching down and grabbing mine, helping me stand up and it was in the reaching of His hand that I finally let go of everything else I had been holding on to. And as I let go of the me that wasn’t really me, and I began to see the me He had fashioned and formed - the perfect and real me. As I looked at that me, my soul began to dance. The room that I had never wanted to be in became the room I learned to dance in because I was bursting with freedom and joy. On the grave of my greatest disappointment, failure and pain - I danced. My body, finally lighter than it had ever been. Free from all that was and all I thought I should’ve been had fallen off me and I was home again within myself.

This is where after the darkest winter, springtime came and with it I started to dream again, to laugh again and to hope again. And this more than anything is a reminder to my future self, that when I walk through a dark valley again, there is hope. We will walk through battles, but we will always find blessings. When I face my darkest night, I will know that staying in the room will lead me towards joy again. It will lead me to the place where I am looking at my true self in the mirror and seeing love transformed.

This is the part of the story where I embarked on new journeys, new adventures, and new experiences. I wrote new words. I loved, I changed and I grew. But beneath all the outward success was a victory I knew I had only gained from facing the defeat I felt within. I was able to dance because I felt the agony of stumbling through pain like learning to walk again. I was able to dance because I had wept, screamed and ran toward wholeness with my entire being. It was staying in the room that caused me to find my joy again. It was in the stillness that He made me new, it was in being present that I found what I thought was lost and it was in the letting go I knew in the deepest parts of me that my story wasn’t over.

And yours isn’t either.

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SPRINGTIME

I walked out of the shadows on my knees I have trusted you with the little that I had, I ploughed this barren land with bleeding hands.

A hand is pulling me out of the darkness, warm and soft, bringing me into the light out of this secret place, this desolate place.

And I don’t know what to do with all this space; the fields, the flowers, the light.

I turn to return back to what feels safe, what feels like home, but you draw back me out.

It’s time to run, it’s time to dance, it’s time to sing.

I have spent so much time asking why.

Why me, why now, why here?

I have spent so much time feeling so incredibly unworthy, so undeserving of this light.

But here you are shining on me with the strength of a thousand suns, Here you are kissing me with flowers made of truth and love.

Here you are, setting your sights on the thing you love, here you are singing, springtime has come.

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CONSUMED

The wooden floors are cold, tempting me to fall into numbness; to live a life of saying no and closing doors, of apologizing and comparing.

But the fire inside, once quiet is growing louder echoing and singing the song of life, inviting me to fall in love again and to dance, to take risks and live wildly.

This fire is your love and all I want to do is be consumed.

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WILD ONE, YOU ARE POSSIBLE

The grass at my feet, the sun on my skin, and the wind in my hair.

This spring passion is rising up in my bones, this summer sun etching its way deeper to my roots.

This air falls afresh again, beckoning me to dream again and to find the joy in believing.

The ocean that is my heart will rise and fall again; attempting to sweep me away in its misery, attempting to be carried away by the fear of uncertainty.

Somehow this wild heart lost its desire for the essence of the mystery.

This adventurer burning inside of me was replaced by someone too scared of uncharted maps, unwalked territories and unseen dreams, asking, is it worth it to believe?

But I will rise up soon and choose to believe that all these dreams, tattooed on my skin, barefaced on my heart, lost in the dusty corners of my longing soul are possible.

I am possible.

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YOU WILL LOVE AGAIN

I still love him, I told her.

I still feel his arms around me his breath right next to me, I said.

I don’t think I could ever do it again, I told her.

I can’t bear the thought of ever loving again, I said.

I can’t imagine another person’s heart reaching for mine, ‘love’, I can’t imagine that.

You will love again, she said.

I know this is not what you feel now but I promise you will feel it again, she said.

I will love again, I whispered.

I will love again, I told myself.

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OCTOBER 18TH

The night smelled like winter on its way; cold, inviting and crisp.

The wind under my feet is lifting me to higher ground over these seven hills and past the clouds.

The air feels old and new at the same time, reminding me to be thankful, reminding me to be hopeful.

It sometimes feels that the future is not a far way off.

I’m starting to think that dreams are as close as the pillows under heads and hope is simply our own hands reaching out to say yes.

I smiled, even though winter is on its way; because I feel like spring, I feel like summer, I feel like hope.

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COLOURS

I’m wearing colours again, gone are the days of black.

My monochrome life is turning into the brightest lights I have ever seen.

My feet once frozen in place are moving, I am dancing again.

These hands up in defence are at rest, I am breathing again.

The sky like eyes bubbled up tears, and spilled flooding the city of my heart.

But sunshine like a saviour brought a gospel I didn’t know I needed.

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The light shining on these flowers, I am growing again.

I never thought I’d dance again.

I never thought I’d see the sun again.

I never thought I’d wear colours again.

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NEW STORIES

Poetry, poetry, poetry stories, stories, stories, words falling off my lips like honey.

Drip, drip.

I’m learning new sounds, new rhythms, new pulses.

I’m finding a different side of me, in each word I speak, hand I hold and smile I see.

My feet make a clap clap, on these cobbled streets.

My hands shake and shiver with the gusts of wind.

And for the first time, I can’t remember the winter past.

For the first time I feel like, the stories in my mouth are making the trees hush and listen.

Beginning. Beginning.

I’m beginning to find myself in new melodies that I have never heard before, new harmonies skipping across my hands to my feet, making me fall in love with something I’ve missed, something I didn’t even know existed.

I look back and see the string of words like a light in the darkness, a flicker, a spark, a fire.

I feel new stories rising up in my bones, like rushes of waves, and I don’t want to run away from the shore anymore.

I’m finding myself in names, people on a page that are coming alive, and I can finally see myself in them.

I finally feel that the stories I write are not just my imagination but the mirror of my mind and the echo of my heart.

My hands reach out and grab hold of something I’ve longed for, for as long as I can remember.

Space.

Space; to run, hide, sing, shout, jump, dance, breathe, love.

I’m writing new stories, I’m writing my story.

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LOOKING UP

I’ve spent so much time looking down, focused on the chaos around me.

Your voice cut through the silence, your words heavy and violent.

I kept my head down in shame, I kept eyes on the ground.

But I’m looking up now.

Letting the light give me new vision, giving my heart permission.

I’m looking up, at the golden light.

Letting my eyes adjust to the new and unfamiliar.

It feels like I’ve never been here before, looking up.

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GRACE

Maybe he was right, that until now I didn’t understand grace.

I have found myself overwhelmed by it.

Overwhelmed that I’m still here, welcomed in with open arms despite who I’ve been, despite what I’ve done.

I am still here, I am still loved.

And I’m realizing this feeling is simply a fraction of what you feel for me.

This love is inches compared to the miles of your affection.

This grace is bringing me down to the sand, to that line you drew and the voice of the liar ceases to speak.

And I am left in the arms of you, you tell me, go and live free.

The man who could’ve accused me, lifts me from this dirt and heals me from this hurt.

And says, you are free you are free you are free.

And grace overwhelms me.

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MY SOUL HAS FOUND HOME

Sunshine crept over the hills into this valley.

The yellow buildings shine like sparkling gold, glowing.

I’ve come home.

Here my heart is welcomed in with open hands and willing souls.

And I know that I know I’m home.

Voices around me, green grass at my toes, I’d fall asleep under this night sky if it meant spending the rest of my days like this.

Hope has itched its way back to my fingertips blessing everything I touch and everything I hold.

My soul indeed has come home.

So I let go of all the waiting and breathe in.

I know that this is the moment I was created for, these are the very seconds I was made for, The very ground I was built to stand on, and I have believed for so long it hasn’t been time to stand but it is.

I’ve come home.

My soul lets out a sigh and I breathe in home.

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SHE WAS, SHE IS

She was light, the sun was always in her eyes.

She flowed and spilled love on everyone and everything.

Her hands made of joy, graced the backs of pages with stories with wild imagination, she was colourful and fully alive.

You came and stole her light, you blamed your darkness on her shortcomings, you blamed your clouds on her weaknesses.

She fought back, with lighting and storms desperate to bring the light back.

You didn’t win, she is still shining.

Bright and brighter still, on this mountain above the clouds, she has hope, for she is loved.

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FAMILIAR

I lifted my hands, I felt joy re-enter my bloodstream.

I’ve been reckoning with my true self, wrestling with all these heavy questions.

But today I’m coming face to face with you and you are familiar with me.

You are familiar with my pain, my doubt and questions.

None of it is a surprise.

You are familiar with me.

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STEADY ON

I travelled through the rolling hills and watched the fog lift.

The skies clear as the train runs through, inviting me to lose myself in the hope of a new day.

Behold the barren trees they whisper to me; a reminder of better tomorrows and of hope for spring and a heart reaching for wholeness.

My eyes wander, I am seeking a new adventure.

My heart it aches for high mountains and deep oceans, the wonders of your love knows no height nor depth and I am lost in it again.

The fog has lifted and my soul breathes in.

I find myself in a story of unveiling; revealing my bright eyes once again standing upon yet another mountain.

Fear no longer sticks to me like leaves in snow, I’ve let go and I am ready to jump again into the unknown, the unclear and unmapped.

Saying steady on my soul, steady on, because it’s just the beginning.

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Epilogue

I have been working on these poems for a very long time. I printed out all these poems I had written and tried to figure out what they were saying to me. It took seven months from that first print out until I finally understood the story I wanted to tell. I didn’t just throw together these poems. In fact, I knew I had to take the time to sit with them and make my peace with them. I have lived and breathed every word on these pages.

However, in all honesty, in the midst of the final editing stages of this book I felt like a fraud. Because I was re-reading these words I had written about staying in the room when I was running from it. I had this moment where I genuinely thought, ‘I am never going to be able to publish this book’, because I felt like a liar. Nonetheless, despite that feeling there was something significant about reliving this story again with the current season I was in. It was as if I was walking through this whole process for a second time and learning it all over again. Not only that but there was something special about working on this book in the midst of the deepest heartbreak I had ever experienced. I stuck with this even though I felt extremely unqualified. I felt like I didn’t deserve to have this good thing in my hands when my hands felt messy and broken, unable to bring myself out the turmoil I was feeling within.

More than anything, I felt like I needed to be perfect before I could share this story with anyone else. But on one Sunday evening at the beginning of 2019, on the bus, I opened up this manuscript and I felt like my dreams for what this could be were re-ignited, like something dead inside of me was suddenly being resurrected. I realised that even in the middle of the storm I still had a story to tell and the time was now. I guess what I want to say is, that I am still learning the power of staying in the room. Right now as I write these words, I am struggling to be present and let go of pain and believe that I will find joy again. But I know I have walked a road like this before and I made it to the other side. And as I walk I will continue to believe that God doesn’t leave us where we are but He keeps walking next to us even when our steps are slow and shaky.

I hope you know that you are loved no matter which part of this journey you find yourself on. I hope you know that even in the midst of winter, spring is still coming - it always does. And I hope you remember that you are not alone in whatever you are facing, He is in the room with you and will stay for as long as it takes. You are loved.

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You have walked this road though the ground has been unsteady, unpredictable, and unforgiving.

You have kept going.

So steady on even here as you keep walking this barren and dark road you so bravely choose.

Because you know that you know that slowly and surely it will lead you home.

- the current season

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OUR JOURNEY

We meet again, in the stillness of my soul.

I hear a door open and footsteps come toward me.

Here we are again, here I have come again, waiting for you.

In beds of flowers and leaves, I rest.

I am choosing to remember that I was made to be loved and I was made to just be.

I followed you across fields, mountains and lakes.

I have never tasted anything like this valley I have been in.

I have felt so hidden, I have felt so insignificant.

I have felt nothing.

I kept my eyes looking for golden light and the sunrise to come, holding onto hope isn’t as easy as it sounds.

The rains they came and stripped this valley of everything I thought it was.

Everything I thought it should have been, wasn’t as I imagined.

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Your light met me still, and whispered; don’t let go.

There is hope.

Hope, what did I have to hope for then?

My hands were so rugged and worn, this soul so broken and torn, what then should I have held on to?

What then should I have grabbed hold of?

You, it was always you.

The valley unravelled me and stripped me bare, I had nothing left to give but a weary heart and an open hand.

And you said it was enough, I was enough.

Exactly as I was, in my brokenness, in my vulnerability.

So here I am again, opening this door, stepping into the unknown.

And I decide, I would go through a thousand valleys, if it meant losing myself to find more of you.

I would climb a thousand mountains, if it meant learning victory in terms of trusting you.

I would stay here, if it meant staying here with you.

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Acknowledgements

To Orphan No More, this family has taught me to cultivate my creativity and believe in my gift as a poet, but more than that has demonstrated what it means to be fully known and fully loved. Being part of this community has given me space to dream like I have never dreamed before.

Joshua Luke Smith - your poetry, life and kindness has inspired me since the moment I met you. Thank you for supporting this project and encouraging me to keep loving, keep writing and keep walking forward towards hope. Kara Smith, thank you for staying in the room with me and holding my hope when I couldn’t myself.

Toby Mitchell, thank you for designing my book with excellence and care. It was an absolute honour to work with you.

To my dearest and closest friends in Bath and across the world, my life is sweeter with you in it. For those that have walked with me for years and those only months, I am the person I am today because of your friendship, grace and kindness.

To my Dad, thank you for always making a way for me, for standing with me in the storm and laughing with me despite it.

To my Mom, your absolute and sheer confidence in my poetry and writing has made me believe in the power of my own words. Thank you for always championing me, loving me and praying for me.

To my brothers, David and Josef, I would not be the tough and strong woman I am today without you two. Your resilience, hope and humour is nothing short of remarkable To the One who has never left - you are the most faithful thing I have ever known.

About the Author

A true believer in the power of words, contemporary poet, Hanna Glover uses poetry to write about her experiences, struggles and joys to offer hope to others.

Hanna is currently living in Bath, England finishing her degree in Publishing and Creative Writing, with the hopes to continue writing and sharing her stories in the years to come.

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STAY IN THE ROOM The words Stay in the Room came to me like a bold traffic light, telling me to stop with the gentle whisper reminding me that there was more than the life I was living.

Stay in the Room is an invitation to rediscover our true selves. It is the relief of learning to trust in the unknown, letting go of all that holds us back and finding joy in the midst of it all. Stay in the Room is a collection of poems detailing the honest, gritty and beautiful story of what it means to come back home. May these words accompany you as you begin your own journey, offering a guiding light in the darkness and a voice of hope in the chaos.

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