Episode 10: We interrupt regular scheduling with an important message
In which our protagonist chooses an interesting time to go off-screen for a week
Dear reader, brave soul, it’s been one helluva week, hasn’t it? And for most of it, I’ve been offline. I couldn’t deal with it. My energy was already depleted, and then all of *that* happened [gestures wildly to the world]. All of that, and it just kept happening. And happening. And more. And different. And the hurt. And the anger. And the frustration. And the sheer, total, absolute end-of-tethering. And the why, the constant why, why does it keep going, why do we never learn, why can’t things just be better, dammit.
Why can’t they?
Why can’t we, as humans, just be better?
I nearly didn’t send this newsletter today. I didn’t know if I should address it, or if I should skip a week, or if I should just ignore it all and pretend like nothing happened. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I knew I’d be using the state of the world and society as an excuse, and that is one of the Big Things I vowed to stop doing as part of this journey to self(ish). So yes, I’m being selfish by interrupting regular scheduling with this message, and I’m shouting it proud: society is f*cked up, and we need to do better.
I won’t dwell on things, but things do need to be addressed. Only by talking about it openly can we learn and improve. Fair warning: this episode gets a bit sweary.
Mental health is not a stick to beat with
First up: “the interview”. Yeah, remember that? The prince and duchess spoke with the American talk show host. It’s hard to believe it was only this time last week that it aired. I didn’t watch it; I wasn’t interested. I handed out how to vote cards for the Australian Republican Movement in our referendum all those years ago, and while I’ve said I can sort-of see the point to the pomp and ceremony of monarchy over here, that doesn’t mean I care about their daily movements and tabloid dramas. So no, I wasn’t interested in a tell-all interview, and I didn’t follow it.
...until, that is, I couldn’t escape it. Apparently - and who knew? - much of the country decreed that suicidal thoughts are made-up. Of course I’m over-exaggerating here, but imagine how I felt - coming out of one of the darkest periods I’ve ever experienced - to see the headlines of the first half of this week. The Duchess of Sussex admitted (understandably) to have questioned the point of being alive given the treatment she received in Britain after her wedding. I don’t particularly care about her position or the establishment or any of the stuff that goes along with it, but here’s what I do care about: A woman vocalised feelings of despair, and she was ignored. She was disbelieved. She was told to just get on with it for the sake of appearances.
And that is not on. In my own way in my own little slice of the world, I’ve been told the same thing. I’ve been told to take a pill and get over it. I’ve seen and heard enough disbelief about dark mental health that, when I got to my worst last year, I didn’t talk about it. I internalised. No one knew; the mask was on tight and that was that. Luckily, I have support and I’m working hard on getting better. I didn’t get to go to Oprah, no, but I’m writing this newsletter to tell all of you it’s ok - no, it’s essential that you speak up if you get like that.
All of us need to speak up, we need to admit when we’re struggling and we need to ask for help. As more of us do so, mental health discussions become normalised and we can reach a point where never again will a white, middle-aged man storm off on national TV because someone called him out on his bullsh*t reaction to a woman’s cry for help.
Which brings me to the second half of the week. F*ck, it’s been a tough one, eh?
Women have a right to walk safely home
I rarely discuss politics or religion in polite company, but this has to go on record: women have a right to live. Women have a right to walk safely at night. Women have a right to be where they want to be, say what they want to say without fear of repercussions.
Women are not a plaything, nor are they a punching bag.
I didn’t know Sarah Everard, but I have been that 33-year-old woman walking alone at night through the streets of London. So have my friends, my colleagues, my peers. I have been lucky to make it to my destination safely on every occasion; others have not. I used to tell myself it was because I look like I do, that I wasn’t a target because I wasn’t a skinny attractive blonde - though I have had men call me fatphobic slurs in the street, because how dare I go into public looking like this - but I’ve come to the conclusion it was just luck. It was luck, and it was the learning instilled in us from a young age: don’t wear your headphones at night. Remain alert. Be on guard. Don’t take a short cut across the park, or down that alley. Be wary of strangers and especially of strange men.
(If you’re tempted to #notallmen me here, I direct you to this post from the inimitable Clementine Ford.)
And the other thing we’re conditioned to do? Call the police for protection. That a policeman was allegedly behind what happened to Sarah, and that the Metropolitan Police behaved as they did in Clapham Common last night, well… my thoughts on that are best expressed by NWA.
I rarely discuss politics, but I’m angry. Dear reader, I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m sick of it. I deserve better - we all deserve better. We must demand better. We must stand up and shout and live as we deserve to live, without fear. I’ve always thought I was a Suffragette in a previous life; it’s time to engage that rage and fight for better.
I realise this hasn’t exactly been the usual episode of my journey to self(ish), but sometimes the collective must take precedence over the individual. Sometimes we need to think outside ourselves and band together to demand change. So let’s go there, let’s do this thing.
Courage calls to courage everywhere, after all.
The week ahead 🗓
Last week, I avoided the computer not just because of the world, but also because my eyes were demanding a screen break. The brain, though, went back to the fog. There’s a lot I can do to bring it back from the brink this week, such as...
Writing: Did you know that toxic masculinity and society’s attitudes towards women are themes of my WIP? As horrible as this last week has been, my brain is swirling with inspiration. Let’s dive in.
Work: I’ve had my first commission as a writing trainer and creative coach, and will be leading the session “How to Build a Story” on Sunday 21 March as part of Creative Connections. It’s an online festival of free, interactive workshops for the community hosted by Arts Network Sutton in partnership with the Department for Digital, Culture, Media & Sport and the National Lottery Community Fund. There’s plenty going on; get the details here.
Home: I’m being kind to myself; the home stuff can wait. Mr Lauren is off work next week, so we can work on it together.
Health: I gave in to the fatigue last week; I need to get back into action this week. Starting small and slow, I want to head to the nearest big park to commune with nature.
Routine: And of course, I aim to continue my daily practice: morning pages, 15 minutes of meditation, 10 minutes of stretches. Plus, join me and hundreds of others at the LWS Writers’ Hour every week day: 8am GMT, EST, PST and AEDT.
On the stereo 🎧
A playlist for the week: ‘Nuff said.
Respect, by Aretha Franklin
“All I’m askin’ is for a little respect when you come home”
Just A Girl, by No Doubt
“Don’t you think I know exactly where I stand? The world is forcing me to hold your hand”
You Don’t Own Me, by Lesley Gore
“I’m free and I love to be free to live my life the way I want”
I Am Woman, by Helen Reddy
“You can bend but never break me, ‘cause it only serves to make me more determined to achieve my final goal”
I Will Survive, by Gloria Gaynor
“I’ve got all my life to live, and I’ve got all my love to give, and I’ll survive”
Off the shelf 📚
A treatise on setting boundaries, Michelle Elman’s second book seemed a perfect fit for my own journey to self(ish). And she had some really good points to make about how knowing and enforcing your boundaries can be transformative for your energy and your personal relationships. However, as great as the message is, I didn’t resonate personally with the examples and focus of much of the book. I think the target audience is much younger than my creaky old bones.
“A person without boundaries has a life that is often dictated by others’ opinions, including operating in a way that avoids negative reactions. This is impossible. Another person’s opinion is out of your control. As long as you prioritise their opinions, you will continue to struggle to set boundaries because boundaries will make you less likeable.”
Visual confirmation 📷
She was just walking home.
My heart, as ever, goes out to you, dear Lauren. And I agree wholeheartedly about the Megan thing. But what got me, when a member of our most trusted police force was found to be so evil, so utterly despicable (and don't tell me they didn't have their suspicions) was why weren't the officers themselves moved to join the vigil? It would not have been beyond their powers of ‘discretion’ to have stood respectfully among the crowd, giving some thought to the relationship between police and the people they are there to protect. How different if they had bowed their heads and stood side by side with those mourners? Perhaps they might have murmured something about social distancing, a soft touch of duty while they were remembering. Instead, they found themselves surrounded and evidently panicked in a most unprofessional and unhelpful way. It’s not the first time the Met have encountered this situation. I was at the poll tax riot (cowering half way up the national gallery in inappropriate footwear). They made mistakes then and they have learnt nothing since.