But I'm Mostly Fine.

Dear Reader,

There's a sadness that we all keep in varying degrees tucked away in the back of our minds that Ethel has a unique way of getting ahold of and reminding us it's there.

-comment by @xDPx-zh7vr on Youtube, 2023

I haven’t been able to stop thinking of this sentence since I saw it in a comment on a Youtube video of Ethel Cain performing a live version of “Sun Bleached Flies”.1

The comments sections isn’t exactly a place you got to find inspiration, but every now and then, you find a little golden nugget. Some insight that lodges something into place in your brain, articulating something you hadn’t put into words yet. It hadn’t been real.

When I think about my favourite writing—my favourite art—it’s things that reach out and grab hold of me, like a magnet drawing something out of my psyche that had previously only existed in the abstract. Work that holds up a mirror to the most private corners of my mind, giving them form and substance. Proof that I’m not alone—a little knock at the door in my mind, dislodging a tiny piece of shame.

Back in high school, I used to fantasize about being more depressed. Wishing that things were just a little bit worse—that I would lose my appetite, not be able to get out of bed, and everything just became a haze of reality.

I can see now that I was depressed; it just didn’t fit into my understanding of depression. I know what I was really trying to say was, I wish I had a reason to feel sad and tired all the time. I wish someone would notice.

My depression has always been a thing that is just there.

It’s smooth and slippery and drapes over everything else, and it’s a jagged stone lodged somewhere in my body. I can feel the sharpness, but can’t place it.

Most of the time, I feel fine. And I am still depressed. Maybe it’s because depression has become so normal for me. So normal that it’s easy to forget it’s even there. It becomes the frame, not the picture. A filter that you forget isn’t reality.

When I think about the version of myself who wanted to be more depressed, it’s because I thought things had to get worse before I was allowed to take them seriously. It wasn’t enough that I was just shy and quiet and suffering from regular teen angst and mopey main character syndrome.

I needed a bigger reason—a diagnosis, a crisis, something undeniable.

Maybe you’ve felt that too.

This isn’t bad enough.

So you keep trying, trying to so hard to be grateful, terrified that you’re secretly just selfish and entitled. Maybe everyone feels this way and everyone else has learned how to live with the low-grade disconnect that permeates through everything.

But what if the quiet ache deserves to be seen precisely because it’s so easy to live with—so easy to let it take up precious space in our lives and tell ourselves this is our new normal.

What if you don’t have to wait until you stop getting out of bed or self-isolating before you become curious about the life you’re living and whether it’s what you actually want.

What if you deserved more than mostly fine?

I’ve been asking myself that more lately. And I think you should too.

1. If you’re sitting with that quiet ache this week and looking for a way to find new language for it, the Threads & Thresholds guidebook is a free tool I created for bridging the gap between the spiritual and creative practice

2. And for those who want a monthly ritual to stay grounded, we're gathering in the Tarot Treehouse in a couple days for our first ritual with the Hanged Man/Muse.

With love,

If you’d like to support my work but don’t want to commit to a paid membership, you can buy me a one-time “coffee” over on my Ko-fi page! Every little bit helps me to keep creating. <3

Kofi