Memoir & Poetry

I Was a Good Wife: A Self-Portrait

I will always be the one who left.

I never thought I would get married, and then I did. I was married for 11 years thinking I would never get divorced, but I did that too. Everything I thought I knew about myself unraveled. This is what happened when I decided to leave my marriage.

This is a self-portrait of my becoming.
(If I could’ve just painted this book, I would have.)

I Was a Good Wife: A Self-Portrait Excerpt

My brain doesn’t let me sleep. I literally don’t sleep. I do everything without sleep.

I’m starting to forget what I’ve told people, and to who I’ve told things to. There are so many new people in my life all of the sudden. New coworkers, new friends. New life. New community. So many new faces. New feelings. New routines to create. New thoughts to think. New.

I can’t even remember entire conversations sometimes.
I repeat myself. I hate that.

I’m so tired.
All the time.
But I can’t sleep.

I keep repeating myself. I say the same thing in different ways.

Did I already tell you this?
If I did, I’ll probably tell you again.

Maybe if I could just get some sleep.

I can’t sleep unless I’m sleeping with someone.

page 211

I Left a Stranger: A Coming Out & Into Estrangement

In May 2023, Elizabeth Dawn embarked upon an artist’s journey from Washington state to Georgia.

She planned for Atlanta but circumstances led her to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Following her intuition, she moved west to east without telling her family and leaving behind a loving partner.

Using poetry as her guide, Elizabeth Dawn time travels to assess the lessons learned through reflective narrative.

I Left a Stranger: A Coming Out & Into Estrangement Excerpt

I was born at dawn in Anchorage, during the summer of 1981, smack inside The Alaska Triangle, which delights The Alien inside me.

To consider myself born inside an energetic field that is a phenomenon where people go missing without a trace offers a meaning not lost on me. Perhaps I was born to disappear in the exact way I have disappeared myself. Though I’ve never been able to achieve invisibility, pretending someone else doesn’t exist is the closest thing I can think of.

Chapter 11

I’m Not Wearing Any Pants: Undressing a Diagnosis

I didn’t know I was raised in a cult.

I am interacting with 20 years of personal writing, assessing the religious trauma of my childhood after receiving a formal diagnosis of [Complex] Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in 2020.

Using the seven repeating symbols that emerge in my art—The Body, The Eye, The Pussy, The Demon, The Alien, The Ghosts, & The Phoenix—I name, address and begin healing the ongoing symptoms.

It is my artist’s way, and dare I say, my own scripture; a blend of narrative and dialogue with the inner voices and identities I engage to heal through art as therapy.

Expected 2026

Artist’s Note & Timeline

Divorce changed how I think about myself—as single, as one. Solo.

I have remembered the daydreamed future of my youth and recommitted myself; I never wanted to get married, and I never will again. I am non-traditional; alternative in lifestyle. I do not want to be relegated to religious ruling and societal norms.

The way I operate in relationships must change.

2018-2022

When coronavirus impacted the world,

I was in the small percentage of people who did not receive financial assistance to aid with the immediate, unexpected adjustments life demanded. I’d quit my job a couple months prior and started my own editorial business, Liz Edits. I did not receive unemployment nor did I receive small business assistance as I did not have a record of past income. The jobs I was qualified for and applied to were being temporarily suspended as companies focused efforts to support their current employees who needed to work remotely. I could not pay my rent and made a deal with my landlords to break my lease early.

I moved from my apartment in West Seattle, Washington—the scene of my first book, I Was a Good Wife: A Self-Portrait—into my parent’s home in the country, away from most friends. For five months, my body was repeatedly impacted by the triggers and landmines of being in such close quarters with my parent’s religious belief system. (I am a pastor’s daughter, born into the United Pentecostal church; a chosen one, I came in with the truth.) Living with my parents as an adult trapped me inside of flashbacks for days. I sought therapy for cult survivors and was diagnosed with PTSD from my childhood upbringing. During the sixth month, I recognized I could not stay any longer. I was suffering intense suicidal ideations. I couch-surfed with friends while I looked for a new place to live. I cashed out the 401k from my corporate job, a meager $26k, and lived off of it for two years in a studio apartment in Rainier, Washington. This home is where I embraced the solitude healing required of me and I learned to find my way out of the darkness. Memoirtistry was born.

When I began dating a trans woman , my parent’s beliefs further separated me from them. I have grown weary of being rejected to my face and it being called love. Love is listening and seeking understanding to create relationship.

Coming out is euphoric, and terrifying. As I have gathered tools to support my mental health and re-centered myself with creativity, I’ve grown in confidence. Forced resilience does that.

The symbols in my art (by order of appearance) were activated; The Body, The Eye, and The Pussy—all external parts of my physical being. The symbols prepared me for the journey inward to examine what has happened to me and assess what I needed to do to heal.

2022-present

I left my home in Rainier to briefly live with my partner before hitting the road for Atlanta, Georgia.

I Left a Stranger: A Coming Out & Into Estrangement outlines my journey from Washington to Pennsylvania, a planned artist journey that took on a life of its own. During that time, I became increasingly distant with my parents, and when I left I decided to cut ties with everyone in my family. Estrangement is difficult, and my body is finally being released of the stored trauma. Every day I choose to maintain my silence, I heal a little more.

I landed in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and have found refuge in the home of a childhood friend, another cult survivor. Living with someone who was there with me—who saw what I saw and heard what I heard and was equally impacted—has helped me achieve the next level of healing. I can observe my flashbacks in a metaphorical glass box now; I am on the observation deck watching the symptoms with curiosity and non-judgment.

I’m Not Wearing Any Pants: Undressing a Diagnosis is the culmination of my experience; childhood stories are being rewritten—baptized and transformed by tongues—using the symbols that have appeared in my art since I divorced in 2018. It is the examination of all I’ve learned to grow these inner children into maturity.

The symbols in my art (by order of appearance) were activated; The Demon, The Alien, and The Ghosts—the internal selves, or parts of me to make peace with. As I have engaged these selves, I find they all have a purpose. When their differences and contradictions are supported, they come together to form The Phoenix, the seventh and last symbol.

I have been on a quest my entire life to reveal my whole self, and express her to the fullest. It is because of The Phoenix’s arrival that I can write this third memoir—the only book I ever wanted to write. I have been born again.

Thank you for bearing witness.