|| “Are you sure, sweetheart, that you want to be well?” —Toni Cade Bambara, The Salt Eaters ||

I’ve been listening to “Let It Flow” by Toni Braxton on repeat for the last thirty minutes. I have never been good at letting things go. Even as a child, I considered myself to be a great grudge-holder. I’ve always thought I wanted to be well, but it is just so hard to forgive or forget, let alone doing both of those things at the same time. It feels, sometimes, like I’ve become a queen of broken hearts, of hurt and pain that builds on the layers that were previously left.

I thought I wanted to be well, but it is easier not to be—easier to lash out, easier to be the smaller person, easier to confront the ways that you are hurt but not the ways that you hurt. I would wonder why I always had to be the bigger person when the other party, usually older than me, was not willing to do the same. It is easier to be petty, to assume worst intentions, to be unthinking and therefore, often, unkind.

A month ago, I told my friend that I had been feeling weirdly emotional. I’ve always cried at movies and TV, much more so than my own life, but now I found myself tearing up while walking or singing or driving. Years ago, I read something about how sometimes people who are quick to cry at movies but not at their own lives are overcompensating emotionally within the context of a space that feels safe. Maybe that’s true. But now, my “safe space” was spilling out into other areas of my life. In the conversation with my friend, we started talking about therapy—I haven’t been since college—and she mentioned an Instagram post she had seen a few times. It discussed how while talk therapy is great and useful for those who can access it, a very low percentage of the trauma that happens to us is accessible through the part of the brain that can process language. And that things like singing and dancing and running can be just as much of an outlet as talking, because it can allow us to process trauma that we don’t even know we’re processing or that we don’t even consciously know we have, including the trauma that sits in our bodies, not our minds. It also explains, my friend said, why communities that have been historically oppressed, but don’t have access to talk therapy, have been able to survive for so long. It’s already ingrained in us. We can practice collectively, as opposed to individually. And in these ways, we’ve created our own therapy.

This year, I’m trying to create my own therapy. I want to erase the layers, rather than building upon them. After spending most of 2018 (the hardest year of my life so far, in so many ways) in a deep depression, I spent the end of 2018 thinking about how I wanted things to change. First and foremost, I decided that I want to be for myself what I often desire from others, particularly in romantic dabblings. No more waiting for someone to come along and sweep me out of my routine—I was going to do it myself. I was going to be my motivation and my champion and my provider. I started practicing yoga and going to workout classes. I started hiking. I started this newsletter. I enrolled in a self-defense class. I got a new job. I started an online course about love with some friends. I started singing as loud as I want to while driving my car. I dance, almost on the daily. I’ve been making more time for people I love, reaching out and hanging out. I have been asking myself questions and listening for the answers. I have been planning for and creating what I want.

But even as I try to create this for myself, I recognize that any progress I make in my attempts at being well don’t solely stem from me. I’ve read books by people more knowledgeable than me, learned yoga via a wonderful (and free) YouTube series called Yoga with Adriene (and before that, took a free class in Bryant Park with Bee Creel, who was equally wonderful), and been in the orbit of an amazing self-defense instructor and an amazing group of women practicing it. One of my cousins dragged me hiking when I didn’t want to go (spoiler alert: I loved it). Another literally drove across town to give me a hug when she heard in my voice that I wasn’t okay. And my friends, man! My (girl) friends are incredible—they have let me vent and cry and not know things. They have commiserated and told me they thought I was right and told me they thought I was wrong, sometimes in the same conversation. They have told me hard things I needed to hear (and still loved me when I didn’t listen and they were right). They have supported me and been there for me and laughed with me about funny st when I didn’t want to talk about the painful st or, sometimes, laughed with me alongside the painful s**t. They have remembered important dates and congratulated me and wished me luck. My friends help keep me alive. In a sense, they have always been the loves of my life.

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Weeks ago, another friend and I were talking about the idea of dedicating a year to healing and how it kept coming up in regular conversation—more specifically, the idea that this year is a year of healing for many different people. We talked about healing as a commitment. She wondered if it is a commitment that can be flexible. I wondered if it’s the type of commitment that you either make or you don’t.

I haven’t gotten all of this right. There are times when I’m sure I haven’t gotten any of it right. But I’m trying. I believe that healing yourself heals your family line—that the pains and traumas that came before you can end with you. Maybe that’s too simplistic, but it’s a nice thought: that I don’t have to pass down trauma to my children or pass trauma to others in my interactions with them, that it is not inevitable. That I can leave the campground better than I found it, so to speak. It doesn’t mean that I’ll never feel pain again, but that I’ll know how to deal with it in healthy ways, that I can accept what is for me and let go of what isn’t, that I can walk in the world with kindness and compassion at the center of everything I do. It means that if we do the work, another world is possible.

Here’s to creating another world, for all of us.

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Things I’ve Liked Recently:

Quiet by Susan Cain

I’ve never been afraid to claim introversion for myself but there are lots of people who do feel that trepidation. This book delves into why (in a nutshell, in the U.S., we’ve basically been collectively brainwashed), and also why there shouldn’t be any—introverts are pretty awesome. Quiet is fascinating, combining anecdotes, scientific studies, tips on working with, loving, and parenting introverts, and much more.

Fyre Fraud

This documentary is a wild ride. It considers how a man in his late 20s was able to con people out of millions of dollars, but also what people will do (and lose, really) for charisma and status and the pretense of luxury. I find grifter stories to be pretty interesting and I’m not alone in that, as evidenced by how they’ve seemed to come out every couple of months for the last year and a half or so.

Homecoming: A Film by Beyoncé

This is a film of Beyoncé’s Coachella performance, essentially with interludes of her life gearing up to the show. It is phenomenally inspiring, as anything she touches tends to be. (The only reason I resubscribed to Netflix was to watch this film. If you didn’t already know, I am an unapologetic stan.)

The Friend Zone by Abby Jimenez

I don’t typically read many romance novels but I’ve always been a(n undercover) romantic, even if I’m more of a cynical one these days. With that said, The Friend Zone is so delightful and kept me laughing all throughout the book. It’s nuanced and sad at parts, but ultimately just a great story. And it takes a look at dealing with infertility, which (I’m told!) is unconventional for the genre. I had plans with a friend one Saturday and stayed in instead to finish it. It’s out on June 11th.

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And I like giving things, so here’s a giveaway: Send me a message by May 10th about one way that you want to be well for a chance to win a “Humble Learn a New Language Bundle” (3 months of access to Spanish, French, and German language learning subscriptions + Lonely Planet e-guidebooks for Barcelona, Paris, Rome, Tokyo, and Beijing. You can gift one or all keys).

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As always, if you care to, let me know what you think! Like I said last time, if you’ve ever corresponded with me, you probably know I can be bad at responding, but I promise that I read it. And, as always, thank you for being here.

Until next time.

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