Who am I and What am I Doing Here?
A Dark Night of the Soul, or Something Like That
Please make sure to scroll to the bottom of this newsletter to read updates about classes/workshops and paid memberships!
There have been countless moments over the past month in which I’ve wanted to write to you, wonderful Navel Gazing community, yet I couldn’t find the words.
Something happened to me after I turned in my final book revision.
The electric energy propelling me forward lost its charge.
My insides turned into a dark, viscous goo.
I woke up sometime in November after years of 60 hour work weeks not knowing who I was, but there was little time to reflect. Papers needed grading, classes needed teaching, and I still had to prepare for my doctoral exams, which are coming up in February. So I did those things.
Then, when the semester ended in mid-December, I drove to New Orleans for a pet-sitting gig. Leaving Tallahassee (and Florida) was essential.
I’ve been in NoLa for ten days, and I leave on January 5th, a day before the new semester starts. It’s more time and space than I’ve had in years. This is my first holiday break without a book deadline. I won’t rehash the past few years of my life— those of you who have been here the whole time already know, and if you’re new you can delve into the archives to find many confessional essays.
I think this sums it up: for the past three years my sleep average ranged from five to six hours a night. My average time asleep over the past six months was six hours and eight minutes a night. Some nights I only slept one or two hours.
I knew I was dysregulated. I knew I needed more sleep; a routine. I wanted so badly to step outside of my own life into some quiet space where I could rest. But I couldn’t. I had to finish my book. I couldn’t afford to quit my PhD program. So I kept going.
Over the past couple weeks I have slowly clawed (yes, clawed) my way back towards some semblance of equilibrium. I’m not quite there yet. I’m not sure if I’ll be there before the semester picks up once again. But I am closer that I’ve been in years.
This isn’t only about sleep, as you know. Anyone who struggled with their mental health, who has PTSD or CPTSD or lives with a neurodivergent brain or is simply alive in the world and paying attention is likely struggling right now, or understands what it’s like to wake up one day and realize they’re floating on some scrap of ice or a flimsy plank of wood, far away from any supportive and safe land mass. Many of you understand me, and that’s why you’re here— because we understand each other.
As someone who lives with CPTSD and autism I sometimes find myself casting things in black and white. Either/or. Liminality is a nice concept, but I’m not great with uncertainty. Yet that’s what the world is asking of me right now: to live in the gray area. To release my need to (try to) control anything other than myself, and also to stop trying to control myself so rigidly.
In the most chaotic and overwhelming periods of my life (which have been the past three years) I picked up a useless habit of making lists for the next day. The next day I would do everything perfectly. The next day I would stop smoking. The next day I wouldn’t watch TV or scroll for hours on my phone. The next day I’d adhere to my rigid calendar schedule and eat a salad for lunch and think only positive, affirmational thoughts. The next day I’d go to bed early and put my screens away at 6pm. The next day. Always the next day. Sometimes I was successful. Most times I wasn’t.
Last month I told my therapist about these lists and how absurd they were. Why did I think I could wake up one day and be a completely different person? A perfect person?
I already knew the answer: this perfect future self was once a perfect coping mechanism. It kept me alive through a chaotic and scary childhood. Back then I needed to fix my gaze somewhere else, away from the intolerable present moment.
But I am no longer a child. I am an imperfect adult who has been struggling to stay afloat on many levels.
If I am acting in ways that are harmful to me and I feel terrible and my life feels out of control; if I’m isolating and hiding myself away in shame— those aren’t character flaws. They’re symptoms of my own unhappiness, my own lack of a support system, and my own fear of true connection and vulnerability.
I want to show up perfectly, everywhere I go. I want my writing to be perfect. I want to write from the aftermath of failure, which is actually from success; not from the abyss itself.
Everyone loves a good redemption arc. Isn’t that what we learn as writers?
The editor or teacher writes in red ink: this character doesn’t change at all. Don’t we all want to think we can move from one place to another, eventually arriving at the ultimate destination? How else do we have authority?
This arc, also known as the hero’s journey, isn’t real. Or, if it is real, it’s on a repetitive loop and we’re cycling through each stage again and again, learning and relearning ourselves and the world. I wrote about this a couple years ago:
I no longer think the Hero’s Journey is bullshit, but the paradigm can certainly be destructive if we’re lulled into thinking we can ever be fully healed. This is especially true for those of us who come from unstable childhood— those of us who never got the sense that we were loved or safe or protected, and had to abandon ourselves for the sake of our parent(s).
Sometimes I feel like I have two selves: the self I would have been, had I been raised in a marginally supportive and safe environment, and the self I had to be in order to survive a deeply unsafe and lonely childhood. That latter self armored themselves in metal and chain mail, defending themselves against a hostile world. But the former self also lives inside me. In my best moments I am that person: open and trusting and okay with doing things wrong and being wrong. I’d be lying if I were to say that’s most of the time. It’s only some of the time.
Really, it’s not so simple— because there is no neat split when one’s self is fragmented. And anyone can feel like this at any point. It’s not only those of us who’ve had certain experiences. It’s a human experience.
The photo above (a little meme I made) is from one of my favorite shows, called Somebody Somewhere. It’s a slow burning show about a woman, Sam, who returns to her small Kansas home town after the death of her sister. Sam is such a lovable character (all of the characters are lovable, actually). partially because she hates herself so much. She doesn’t believe she deserves love, and hides herself away from others. But her friends can see what she cannot: her generosity, her capacity for love; her beauty and talent and brightness. They love her because she is innately worthy of love. Not because she’s perfect.
Our culture tells us the opposite: that perfection is what gets us love. This is a lie that keeps us striving and unhappy. The lie can make us forget why we’re here on earth. To love each other. even when we’re messy as fuck. To treat each other with kindness and give each other (and ourselves) grace.
Boundaries are also important. But you know what I mean.
So here I am, writing to you from that imperfect place. Still all gooey inside and not quite knowing how I’ll get through.
I spent Christmas alone. It was hard. I cried to Judy Garland and listened to church bells play “Silent Night” and remembered when, as a child, I practiced the song over and over for a performance, envisioning my mom in the audience, and sang it without her there.
I listened to the church bells and put my hand on my heart. I reminded myself that I am here now, and isn’t that a miracle? To hear those bells ringing from so far away, their vibrations cresting through the air like magical waves of sound?
I have a little over a week left in New Orleans. I’ve stopped making lists for myself (though I still have a work schedule). What I really want is to reshape my life, just a little bit. Instead of planning to wake up as a different person who does things perfectly, I’m taking it one day at a time— going to bed a little earlier each evening. Staying off social media. Reading the books I need to read and some I simply want to read.
Reminding myself that I am the person who lives in my own life, and the present moment is the only moment I can fully occupy. That I can’t wait for the future to make things better, or make me whole.
For so long I wanted to publish a book, and I’ve been telling myself: “Once you publish your book everything will be better.”
I believed that for a long time, and that belief got me here, to a point of desperation and burnout. It also got the book finished, so that’s something.
Things may change once my book is published, but I will not be fundamentally different. Not inside myself. If there are things I want to change— if there are choices I want to make for myself— I have to make those choices. Slowly. Deliberately. Over time.
The shape of my life must include space for myself, for friendship, for intimacy, for joy, for sleep, for replenishment. For acceptance and forgiveness. For mistakes.
I guess that’s my New Year’s Resolution, although it’s not a resolution but an unfolding process. A commitment to be with myself through the process, even when I stumble or fall.
And I have quit smoking— for two weeks today. Smoking was a signal to myself: that things are not okay. Quitting is an action and also a signal: I’ve got this. I want to be happy and healthy.
What’s Coming to Navel Gazing in the New Year?
I’m passionate about Navel Gazing and what this space can offer to its readers and community. Pausing paid subscriptions was essential— I needed space to think about how I want to show up here (and in general).
What I really want is for this space to be supportive. A refuge. A place to learn and engage in community dialogue and feel resourced and seen and maybe even loved.
Tomorrow you’ll receive an update about THE INTERIOR GAZE, which will restart in January.
I’m also shaping up plans for some smaller and more involved classes and workshops, most of them focused on essay writing as a pathway into self, social understanding and interpretation. Plus one-off classes on book proposals, queries, and organization.
My hope is to share more about my book, the editorial process, and the publishing process as well. Let me know if you want more of that!
In mid-January I’m offering a supportive space called ANALOG FEAST. I’m super excited about this, because the focus is on social media and scrolling as dissociation. Expect a full announcement early next week— ANALOG FEAST will be educational, community-oriented, and full of resources and motivation for decreasing (or eliminating) social media engagement and mindless scrolling without shame.
Paid subscriptions will resume on January 1st, and all paying members will have access to THE INTERIOR GAZE and ANALOG FEAST as well as discounted offers to join the small workshops.
I love you, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves. <3 I’m so grateful you’re here.