I Need to Come Clean

It's been a long time coming.

This essay began at 3:30 A.M., my brain roused by a talkative radiator, then fueled by anxieties I thought I’d long outrun.

I wondered if I should make a career pivot. I wondered about some questions unfolding over the next few months. I pondered if it was time to sign off from writing this newsletter.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Originally, per the spreadsheet I use to plan each week’s topic, this was supposed to be a piece about shame. I’ve been thinking a lot about shame lately — what it feels like, where it comes from, the role it plays in our lives.  

Despite its prominence in the cultural lexicon, most notably the way Brené Brown has built a veritable empire around it — the Star Wars-like clash between Shame and Vulnerability — for much of my life (by which I mean, until last week) I didn’t fully grasp what it was.

Shame, it seemed, was the more intense cousin of embarrassment — an insidious, silent figure, content to lurk in the shadows until I dared venture outside my comfort zone, when it appeared to second guess everything. It questioned my worthiness. It had side-eye for days.

Per the dictionary, shame is “a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior.”

Per my therapist, shame is “feeling like you aren’t good enough.”

Ohhh, I thought, the proverbial light bulb suddenly bright above me. All this time it was hiding in plain sight.

This is not my shame, but my dog, Mia.

What I’ve learned about shame (by which I mean, what various TED talks have told me) is that it struggles to survive in the open. When you share it, name it, or confront it, it reacts like an intruder caught in a beam of light. Startled at first, then eventually dashing off the premises.

And so, I’d like you to meet mine.

I’ve always struggled to take myself seriously. I struggle to believe I’m good enough. I know that I’m good — I show up, I mean well, I have things to contribute. But the “enough” gets me every time. “Enough” spans the wide chasm between brain and reality, esteem and worth. “Enough” is where it falls apart.

That brings me full circle: 3:30 AM, wondering if I should pack it in.

When I started this newsletter, my aim was to create a community, a mostly soft landing place to start the week together. I hoped it would be akin to a friend in your inbox, offering a dose of connection and opportunities to reflect. It’s always felt important to me that community doesn’t come at a cost, with no barriers for entry, especially during these last few years of unprecedented challenges.

Beyond that, I didn’t want to sully anyone’s reading experience with paywalls and copious subscribe buttons. For better or worse, I am part of the old guard, one who has been known to sigh as the publications I once enjoyed gratis gradually disappear behind paywalls. And realistically, everyone can’t be expected to subscribe to everything under the sun.

I’ve marveled at peers who earn a sustainable living from newsletters. Some were early adopters. Some went paid from the get-go. Others utilize paywalls and marketing to great success. Despite joining Substack, a platform that openly states its mission is empowering writers to support themselves, I didn’t feel comfortable trying the same. It felt like an imposition. I felt like a sham. My shame was too loud.

Shame would have me believe that asking is wrong, that growing is impossible, and that quitting would be easier than telling the truth. But I’m tired of listening to that f*cker. And I can’t let that happen.

Practically, I am faced with two competing truths:

1. I cannot continue doing this the same way I have for the last 16 months.

2. I love this space and I’m not ready to throw in the towel.

So. I’m ushering in a relaunch of sorts. What this means is that you’ll see some changes here, but I’m hopeful that they will be positive.

As accessibility remains important to me, these Sunday Letters will continue as they have — free and available to all — for the foreseeable future.

Starting this week, I’ll be debuting a new regular feature for paid subscribers, which I envision as a midweek check-in. It will go out every Wednesday, streamlining the process by replacing all other paid posts with one routine, predictable format.

Because we’re all inundated with content, my aim is to make these short but impactful. A quote, a recommendation, or some other fun, thought provoking, or uplifting thing I’ve come across and want to share. Many will include a new interview feature I’m excited about, called Five Big Questions, where awesome people share a bit about who they are and what moves them. The first one launches this Wednesday.

Paid subscribers will continue to have access to the full archives (over 75 issues and counting!), audio recordings, and discussion threads.

Because this is part of a larger conversation, I want to end with a quote from Cheryl Strayed, from a fantastic interview I read earlier this week (which is full of gems about many topics beside this one). It helped me feel empowered and perhaps it may resonate with you as well:

“We need to reframe how we value artists and how we value writers in particular…We must make a profound shift about that. When we click on something and can’t read it, we call it a paywall. Well, there’s also a paywall between you and the apple in the grocery store, or the movie that you go see in the theater, and we don’t call those things a paywall. We call those the cost of buying an apple or going to see a movie. Nobody expects to get those things for free because we understand that they have value and that work went into making them, whether it be growing the apple and delivering it to the grocery store or creating the content for the movie that you’re getting admission to. Writing is the same.”

Thank you, as ever, for being here in any and all capacities. You make my work possible, and I am grateful for your support. 

As always, if you’d like access to the paid content but it’s not currently within your means, email me and I’ll extend a comp, no questions asked.

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring The Star Tarot by Cathy McClelland

A friend keeps a folder on her desktop called “wins.” It’s filled with all sorts of things: complimentary emails, kind notes, copies of good reviews, promotion announcements, and awards. There are personal items, too, like photos of memorable occasions and sweet moments she wants to remember. She references the folder on low days — those dappled with bad luck or self-doubt — sort of like an emotional savings account.

As far as the Four of Wands is concerned, we could all use a “wins” folder. Not every day will brim with moments begging to be celebrated, but some of them will. And when that happens, they deserve to be preserved for the future.

The Four of Wands would like to remind us that it’s important to celebrate. Period. Full stop.

What, exactly, are we celebrating? Maybe it’s obvious. Maybe it’s not.

The iconic Smith-Waite Tarot, with art by Pamela Colman Smith

Traditionally, many interpretations of this card suggest a wedding — two people triumphantly holding their arms aloft at a boisterous celebration. Though I didn’t say so the last time this card showed up, this view generally makes me want to throw something. (And I don’t mean a bouquet.) To be clear, I have nothing against weddings, partnership, love, relationships, or fêtes of any kind. I just think the messaging behind this card implores us to think a bit broader.

Celebrations come in many forms, on many levels. There are milestones that often come with a registry. And there are those that may never be shared, acknowledged, or even known, by anyone else.

They are worth commemorating, too.

Some of the most incredible, profound, and important things we experience as humans may never receive so much as a nod from the outside world. But the Four of Wands hopes that we may have the awareness to recognize them just the same.

Love — in all its forms — is just grand. But there are many other things in life worth celebrating. Growth. Respect. Showing up when it matters. Upholding a boundary. Trying something new. Healing. Speaking up. Sharing your truth. Sharing, in general.

Not everything is worthy of a party. But a whole lot is worthy of celebration. This card asks us to stop, take a look around, and gather up those moments.

It’s worth noting when the air in the room feels like the perfect temperature, or the train comes right on time, or your body knows how to perform an essential function without ever being told.

If you don’t have a “wins” folder — understandable, because most of us probably don’t — sit and really consider what you might find in there if you did. Don’t limit yourself to obvious victories (though of course those belong). Remember the moments when you were scared, vulnerable, or uncomfortable, but you dared to persevere. Remember the times you attempted something new. Remember the times when you surprised yourself. Remember the times when you kept going. Despite the odds. Despite everything.

Above all, remember that you are worthy, because that is a truth inherent in each of us.

No matter what you’ve done or haven’t done, said or not said, accomplished or not, ventured or not yet dared. You are whole, you are worthy, you are the only you. And that is always worth honoring.

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P.S. If you’d like to hear me read this issue aloud — I might cry at the end, I might not — the audio version is available here.