Writing is hard, and sharing it is even harder

I am doing something that makes me feel very vulnerable: writing a book chapter. I have probably told my dad 500 times that I’d never write a book. Each time I said no, he filed it away and asked again later. He never got to hear me say yes. So what changed? Thanks to my friend and storytelling expert, Susan Schroeder, I’ve been practicing bringing more of my own voice into my newsletters and social media, and it has slowly started to feel less foreign.

The opportunity came up this summer, and something inside of me said this was the time to do it. I filled out an application, blocked time on my calendar, and now that my chapter has gone through editing, my stomach knots up whenever I think about releasing it into the world. My inner critic is having a field day.

Sharon Salzberg, the author and meditation teacher, often talks about her inner critic in a very helpful way, at least for me. She named her inner critic Lucy, after Lucy from the Peanuts comic strip. She describes a scene where Lucy tells Charlie Brown, “The problem with you is that you’re you,” and “I don’t pretend to be able to give advice; I merely point out the problem.”

Salzberg says that her own inner voice repeated a similar unhelpful script. Instead of wallowing in self-judgment or shame, or fighting back, she responds by giving Lucy a good, strong dose of humor and loving-kindness. Salzberg practices welcoming Lucy into her life by saying hello, telling her to chill out, and sometimes even inviting her for a cup of tea.

I have been sitting with my own Lucy on my shoulder for weeks and have let her run the show. I am writing this with a cup of lemon ginger tea, and I am taking a step to invite her to join me.

Fourteen women gathered in person and on Zoom on August 29 for our kick-off. The book is an anthology called Proof of Light, a collection of stories created through a joint program with The Hivery and Sulit Press, and it will be released in January. Each of us wrote our own chapter.

The first meeting was fun. We met each other, did a few minutes of free writing, and got lots of encouragement. Then I left town for two weeks. I listened to the replay of the first weekly coaching call in my hotel room, and I almost freaked out. I learned I needed to complete my first rough draft while I was away, and I didn’t even know what I was going to write. How would I get this done? I got out a pen and paper and started journaling.

The next morning, Lucy showed up at my hotel room, put on her backpack, and joined my two friends and me on a hike in Nova Scotia. She was there when we lost the trail and bushwhacked through a cranberry bog. She was there when we finally made it to lunch and toured a museum, and when I saw my first curling club ice arena. She even came to dinner with us. I never mentioned the project or my anxiety about it to my friends. I just carried it around all day. I wasn’t ready to talk about it.

Our task was to tell a personal story, not fiction. Sometimes I listen to The Moth Radio Hour, and I marvel at how people share their stories. That is not me. I cannot remember a time when talking about myself felt easy, but I can remember a conversation from almost 40 years ago that helped cement that feeling.

In my first job out of college, I worked on a U.S. Senate campaign. At first, I volunteered and spent most of my time listening, learning, and stuffing envelopes. Then they offered me a full-time salaried position. I was thrilled, and on my first day as an official campaign staffer, I learned how to feel an envelope for a bomb and that if my name ended up in the press, I would be fired immediately. The message was clear: don’t talk to the press, don’t share your opinion, and don’t talk about yourself.

Years later, as a press secretary for another elected official, I still remembered those instructions, and by then they had morphed into something like, “It’s not about you, so keep your story out of it.”

That night in Nova Scotia, I went back to my hotel room after dinner and turned on the Nespresso machine. Once I was well caffeinated, I sat down and wrote in a stream of consciousness. I wrote almost 3,000 words. I had something on my iPad, and I felt accomplished. I went about enjoying my trip and, at the end of each day, spent some time editing. I still hadn’t told anyone but my husband and my kids about the book. Then, on the way to the airport, our 26-year-old trip leader mentioned that he was writing a book. In a brief moment of trying to bond and be brave, I told him about mine. I will probably never see him again, which may be exactly why I could.

My Lucy did not show up again until I sent my chapter to a peer in the group to read, and she has been dancing on my shoulder since I turned it in to the professional editors.

Some of the women in our WhatsApp group suggested we meet and read our stories aloud to each other. My Lucy grew twice as big at the thought. Telling my personal story feels vulnerable and exposed, like I am being judged. It feels oddly similar to being graded on an art project in middle school.

Normally, I would let the anxiety take over. Instead, I’m working hard to sit with this feeling and notice where I feel it in my body. I have restarted my morning meditation practice, and I am showing myself some compassion while I explore what it feels like to accept the discomfort. Brené Brown, the author, researcher, and storyteller, talks about being grateful for vulnerability, because allowing ourselves to feel it means that we are alive. I am trying to adopt that mindset.

As challenging as the writing was, sharing what I have written is even harder for me. It is requiring me to unlearn some old habits of keeping my story to myself. It means saying hello to my Lucy and inviting her for tea, rather than letting her run the show, and it means making a conscious decision to welcome a feeling of uncertainty. Proof of Light comes out in January. My dad won’t get to read it, but after asking so many times, I think he would be glad I finally said yes. Have you been in a similar situation? I would love to hear how you handled it.

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