No one’s coming to save us from ourselves

I should probably begin letting you know that I’m in a much better place than I was last time I posted. The depression has not only lifted, but I’m feeling more grounded and, well, happy. I’m reading more and writing again. How that happened is a topic for a future post—this one is basically an assignment.

Let me explain.

The morning after my last June book event, the last I had scheduled for nearly a month, I (temporarily) dyed my hair a bright copper red. When I got to the office, my coworker commented on it, and I launched into an explanation: it’s exposure therapy! I’m uncomfortable with being seen, so I did something to attract attention! I used the phrase “trying to address my core wounds.”

“Oh god, it’s nine in the morning,” I said as soon as I finished rambling. “Too early to lay that on you—because you mentioned my hair. My core wounds?!? Jesus.”

We had a good laugh. Shortly after, someone came and asked why I did it. This time, I offered a normal-sounding explanation: “Oh, just to mix things up.”

My exposure therapy experiment has led to a lot of conversations in my office about visibility and the fear of being seen. It’s funny because I realize how much I want that: to be truly seen for who I am—and yet it also terrifies me. (My coworkers even made visibility the theme for my birthday decorations this year, sticking a big mirror in my cake and gifting me a mirrored keychain.) They mentioned how strange it seems: Rachel, you put yourself out there! You’re visible! You just published a book!

It’s all too much to unpack here (hello, internet! Welcome to my childhood trauma!) but that’s my current obsession: working to heal my visibility wounds. Like any healing, it’s a process.

I know this stuff probably doesn’t sound related to writing, but healing is part of the off-page work I try to do for my writing: actively working to become the best, kindest version of myself as possible. I need to do that in order to write the type of books I want to write.

It’s a weird time to be working through visibility wounds: while actively publicizing my novel and doing book events. But also actually pretty great? I mean, what convenient timing. Because the way you work through this issue is by putting yourself out there. Showing yourself it’s safe to do so, despite your internal wiring saying otherwise. And right now, opportunities for that abound.

But that’s also a simplification because the issue—and solution—are more layered and nuanced. There are different ways a fear of being seen can show up, which this Tiffany Monday video breaks down beautifully. That video made me realize I’m more afraid of the people in my life seeing me fully than strangers. Hence, my ability to put my work out there. (And why I tend to be guarded when it comes to people I want in my life.) But this newsletter space is both—strangers and people I know and care about. (Hello, loved ones!) And this post is me taking a step towards being seen like Tiffany Monday urges viewers to do.

Here I am, messy as that may be!

A coworker asked if that’s why I write fiction: it allows me to hide behind made up characters, rather than writing about myself. I don’t think so, because my love for fiction runs deep, but there might be some truth there. It could be both: loving fiction and the way the filter of fiction allows me to hide.

Hiding is definitely more comfortable. I heard this Ru Paul quote recently, which I might not have right, but the idea was: Show us your flaws so we can fall in love with you. I love that because I love rough edges and messiness. Flaws endear me to people and art. And maybe that’s true with others—because a surprising thing happened from my last post, one where I certainly showed my messiness: Someone contacted me about a cool potential job opportunity after reading it.

I like to think good things can come from taking chances, being honest, and letting ourselves be seen.

Reading Recommendations:

Recently read: I devoured Lisa Low’s powerful and poignant poetry collection, Replica. The poems deal with race, relationships, and representation. I don’t often use the word “witty” to describe poetry, but Replica is indeed a witty collection.

Currently reading: A very cool thing happened at an event last month: Gaar Adams, a writer from Wisconsin living in London was in the States for the Lambda Literary Awards, and stopped in Madison for my reading after winning for LGBTQ+ Nonfiction for Guest Privileges: Queer Lives and Finding Home in the Middle East. I hadn’t been aware of Gaar or his work, but we had a delightful conversation, and he gifted me his book, which I’m now reading. It’s a deeply felt account of discovering queer communities in the Middle East, dealing with home and belonging.

I’m trying to keep a steady diet of short stories, and am loving Nora Lange’s Daycare. I’ve heard great things about Lange’s debut novel, which I still haven’t picked up, but figured her new slim story collection could be a good intro to her work. (It is.) Her prose is somehow both assured and electric.

I can’t remember who recommended I read Denise Chávez’s Loving Pedro Infante, and I’m not far enough to comment much on it, but I also really like Chávez’s prose style: direct and no nonsense.

Up next: One of my personal most-most anticipated books of the year is Shannon Sanders’s The Great Wherever. If you don’t know Shannon Sanders’s work, you should change that. I can’t wait to dive into this one.

This post’s title comes from a line in this song, which I’m loving, mostly for the lyrics, which I’m totally feeling right now. So many gems here. Enjoy:

Wishing you a beautiful day of being seen! <3