celebrating one year and taking a risk
reflecting on the first year of committing to this practice & all the fears as I push just a little further.
Welcome to this tiny corner of the internet where an off-duty psychotherapist keeps the conversation going on how to make sense of this life thing we’re all doing. If you ever wondered what your therapist does off the clock—which, who among us hasn’t?—this is like that. Think of it as the adult equivalent of seeing your elementary school teacher at the grocery store picking out lemons. 🍋 I typically oscillate between long-form psychoeducation pieces and narrative essays—sometimes I smush them together. I also do a biweekly podcast with my husband, roundups and a segment of brisk thoughts on music, TV, and film.
One thing before we jump in, I show up very much as myself here. Myself first, and all my other labels are secondary. If a therapist speaking candidly feels like too much to your system, that is absolutely is OK and this may not be the best particular newsletter for you.
Last week marked one year since I started dialoguing.
Like most milestones, I looked forward to this moment with weighty anticipation. Expecting, despite knowing better, to cross some threshold into enlightenment adjacent emotions and insights.
Now that I’m here, the prevailing feeling is…bloated. Not physically, but more emotionally. I have so many feelings and thoughts clamoring for attention.
When I read that first newsletter now, I definitely cringe a little on things I could have cleaned up—graphics, spacing out my paragraphs, I didn’t yet know the joy of editing. I also can see my heart right there on the [digital] page. The through line of what I’ve wanted to try to do here: say it, whatever it is, unflinchingly.
I recently read devoured
“The question I keep asking myself as I write this book, the question I keep insisting upon, is this: How can this story–this experience–be useful to anyone other than me? How can I make this material into a tool you can use?
To talk back to myself: experience is instructive. People make connections on their own. When I make a metaphor, I offer the comparison, but the distance between vehicle and tenor is distance the reader must cross. I can’t carry you from one to the other. I can’t carry you from the nesting doll to the self, or from the boat to the life–you have to get yourself there.
I need to trust that I can hand this to you, just as it is, and it will mean something to you. I need to trust that you’ll know what to do with it.
Here, take it. Is this enough? This is my material.”
When I read this, something shifted inside me.
There will always be a psychology/mental health tilt to what I write because of what I do for work (and what gets me geeking), but if I zoom out across this year, I see myself moving further from the psychoeducational and closer to simply writing about an experience. My experience.
I wrote last week about my parts who feel they need to effort, and effort hard, to be enough. I can see how much that has shown up here. Trying to prove the worthiness of my words through couching them in what I know as a professional. What I have to say about life, just as a human person, couldn’t possibly be enough, be of value.
And yet, I know it is.
There is what I tell myself and then there is what I know.
Now that I’ve aired all that, the emotional bloat has dissipated. Here, I can see the pride, the power, the joy in this last year.
Ownership.
There are times where I feel this is all silly. A bit indulgent. Useless. I now know most essayists wrestle with this thought. If Maggie Smith wonders if her words are useless, who am I to think I won’t also need to wade through that cognitive muck.
For me, there is a delicate balance here.
It IS silly and indulgent and useless. AND it’s still worthwhile to do because, for some, it is also meaningful and connecting. The silliness and indulgence couldn’t possibly negate the rest. And, I value a little silliness, a little indulgence, a little useless wandering. Sometimes it’s liberating to lay down the incessant worry about being of use.
What if I was just here? Existing as I am.
When the uselessness feels too big, and sometimes it really does, I remind myself this is a thing in my life that I own. From beginning to end, this is my creation, my vision.
I could have tried to write for Psychology Today or another mental health/wellness publications, but it would have never been mine, not in the way this is mine. I needed that more than I realized.
Community.
I did not consciously come here to build community. In fact, I didn’t have a clue I was lonely. It’s hard to prioritize belonging when you’re in denial about whether or not you feel it.
Thankfully, it didn’t matter what I was aware of. I stumbled my way into it anyway.
I’ve connected with some of you who have seen yourselves reflected in my words. An experience I’ve found as a reader all my life so I know the deep felt sense of that experience.
I’ve made friends through this newsletter. Like, literal, true friends. Friends who really get why I choose to take time out to write these words. People who understand it’s not an obligation, but an extension of self.
Flies and honey.
A lot of us who write and read here on Substack often revel in how special this place feels. A place where people crave, celebrate, and pay for long-form writing straight from the creator. It can sometimes feel like an Eden of sorts.
I also see a lot of people talking about the struggle of knowing how to engage with it without crumbling.
We love it here. It’s so good–why is it so hard? How do we not ruin this thing we love?
I kept hearing “too much of a good thing” in my head.
Which got me curious about the origin of that saying. When did this start? Who says?
It’s one of the many fables accredited to Aesop, not the luxury cosmetics brand, but the Greek Storyteller from the 600s BC.
In this fable, some hungry flies found they really liked honey. They liked it so much, they ate and ate with reckless abandon not realizing their wings and feet were getting covered in the sticky, sweet honey. They got stuck there, honey covered, and died.
The applications of this fable may be stretching in front of you. Like any good fable, I feel like it could be applied to anything and everything.1
For me, it really, really fits with my experience of Substack. While it’s a beautiful, special space. It also has dopamine landmines left, right and center–notifications, likes, endless content.
If I’m honest, staying stuck in the cycle of dopamine hits this place can provide can and did take from other parts of my life and my wellbeing. Writing always will take something. Time. Energy. That isn’t a problem for me. Not really. The problem was it taking in a way that got away from me. In a way I didn’t consent to. It didn’t feel like I was driving the car anymore.
I've been sensitive to this feeling since becoming sober. It may sound like I’m wrestling for control over myself. And maybe I am a bit. But what I’ve found with any addictive cycle is that when I set parameters for myself, I actually feel liberated on the other side. I feel free. I feel like I’m making a choice.
I still struggle with how to protect this experience for myself. All I know is that I really want to.
Looking ahead.
I had always intended to slowly let this newsletter roll into paid offerings, but it’s been ridiculously hard, emotionally, to put that into motion.
I’ve got money stuff. I find most of us do. It’s really been apparent as I’ve contemplated taking this leap.
It’s sort of funny because my introduction to Substack was through paying for a newsletter. Something I’d never done before.
I had followed writers
and since their days at HuffPo. When they started their own thing, I wanted to be first in line to see what they were up to. This is where I found them doing a paid newsletter and podcast, .I found there were certainly parts coming up around paying for things I used to get for free. It’s been interesting to let myself really sit with that feeling and wonder about it. Why did I think I should be able to access their work for free?
If you’ve read my stuff long enough, you’ll know my approach is to be with that non-judgmentally and really just listen to understand.
When I heard that part of me out, I also found another experience inside of me where I felt excited to support these women. I find value and joy in their work. I’d even go so far as to say I feel proud to be a very small part of what they do.
I’m going to, very shakily, add my hat into the ring. To the possibility of someone having that experience toward my writing here. The truth is that the powerlessness of not taking this chance on myself is too exhausting. No one is going to hand it to me. I need to claim it.
Next week will be a paid newsletter on transitions.
In honoring this transition by naming what is happening, I have parts that feel scared, parts that feel this is embarrassing to do, and other parts that are grateful I’ve leaned into this discomfort so that something could change.
I say all of that so as to shatter any illusion this is easy for me or I don't feel scared/impostor syndrome. A part of me really does. And yet, other pieces of me don’t. And some of that, a lot of that, is thanks to you. From the 16 of you who were subscribers when my first newsletter went out to the nearly 600 (!!!!) of you now. The encouragement I’ve received in the last year of doing this has opened me up to the type of courage I thought was reserved for everyone but me.
Coming up: How this all will look, in terms of paid v. free ratio is still in motion, however a lot of my posts will remain free to everyone. I have posts coming up on motherhood, finances, Archie’s birth story and loneliness.
Disclaiming.You can find more info and my full disclaimer on my about page here. Abridged version: I’m a therapist, but not your therapist—even if you are a client of mine ~hi, dear one!~ this isn’t a session. I don’t think you could possibly confuse this newsletter with mental health treatment. Alas if that were to happen, let me say definitively, dialoguing is an educational and informational newsletter only, not a substitute for mental health treatment.
A Giveaway! Motherhood Minute has been generous enough to offer a giveaway for a select few for the Mental Health and Motherhood Virtual Conference on October 11th. The first two who DM me will be given a code for free admission! I will be speaking there about self-compassion and mothering our inner children with an IFS lens.
Come say hi! Any comments, questions, suggestions, please feel free to email me at dialoguingsubstack@gmail.com—or if you’re reading this via email you can just hit reply and send me a message. Love hearing from you for any and all reasons!
We picked up Tortoise and Hare: A Fairy Tale to Help You Find Balance at the library recently. The Tortoise and The Hare being another of Aesop’s fables. In this retelling, it has a mindfulness tilt around finding energy AND slowing down.
I cannot imagine this place without your voice. Your wisdom and authenticity brighten up my inbox every time you post. One year is a big milestone. Happy Substack anniversary!
Congratulations on one year! I am so grateful to have found your work and cannot wait to see where the next year takes you. I'm here for the beautiful journey you provide through your intentional and educated experiences. 📣👏🏼🩷