A necessary return
First off I just want to say that I am writing this from a place of restrained desperation. Which is to say, I’m not feeling panicked or particularly emotional, and at the same time, from a bird’s-eye view I can observe myself being slowly backed into a corner, a corner that is also somehow on the edge of a cliff. And the surest way to safety, for me, is to share about my reality.
But I don’t want to share with just anyone. I want to share with you, my invisible-slash-imaginary internet audience of likeminded, steadfast supporters.
For this reason, merely journaling or recording a private voice memo, or even talking to a therapist, will not scratch the itch I have to express myself during this bewildering and taxing life transition. I need to publish—only, I want to publish privately, selectively. And that’s not how the internet works.
I did think there was maybe a way to make a Substack into a private publication—and probably there is; at minimum I’m pretty sure I can put passwords on individual posts. But the truth is that I’m not so much interested in controlling who can see this as I am concerned about controlling who can’t. There are one or two people I would very deeply prefer to prevent from reading these words, and if I am honest, I must admit that preference has become self-censorship.
And so what I mean by restrained desperation is that my need for expression at long last outweighs my need to control who can see it. And although I do still intend to restrict access as soon as I’m able, in the meantime I just have to throw all my f*cks into the wind and say (publish) what I want/need to say.
Doing so has always been what saves me.
Love,
(M)om