When I put my words to paper. Screen. Caption. They’re read with your tone. Your voice, your heart, your experience, and your perception of me. That is precisely what I’ve loved and hated about writing. I’ve shared my births, and heartbreaks. I’ve shared how deeply my heart expanded with motherhood, and how lonesome it’s felt sometimes. I’ve tried to convey the joy that streams down my cheeks at each new phase with my daughters and just how shockingly wonderful it’s been. I’ve worked hard to share with you the way’s that I experience motherhood, in hopes that you can see that the mainstream narrative of mothers’ is possibly. . . not the whole story. I’ve began to tread into the dangerous waters of sharing about my marriage. About love. Sex. Long term relationship. The beauty and the intensity. I’ve put my words there, in hopes that you’ll hear yourself in them, imprint your tone right over the top, and feel right along with me.
Writing is my comfort zone. It’s where it’s easy for me to stop, back space, and try again to make sure I’m putting out the right words. And working hard to be sure they’ll be taken in the right way. I’ve wanted to leave the space for me doing it wrong. But in my fears. . . I’ve began to pull back from the topics that are a constant in my life. The words that keep bubbling to the surface over and over (and over) again.
Pulling back for fear of saying it wrong. For fear of overwhelming you.
So I’m taking my words to a new space. I’m using the verbal processor in me to start new conversations.
I sat down to record my first podcast. I asked my girls to play quietly. I asked myself to take a deep breath. I turned on the microphone. . . and it was easy. The words were right there. Why am I starting this? What will you hear? With brevity I can never find on the page, with tone and intimacy and the vulnerability of my actual voice… it was all there. I felt simultaneously like I’d found the golden ticket, and like I was standing in the town square naked waving it in my hands.
I have some variety of high functioning anxiety. It manifests in putting off tasks that I know will feel good to complete. To sit with the window open on buying the hosting services for the podcast. .. for two days. Every time I’d go to make the purchase, I’d walk away. Pull up a new window. Search for some dopamine in facebook. It manifests in replaying experiences where I’ve alienated someone, offended them, or somehow made myself wholly unlikable and then playing those out on a loop for the better part of all night. My anxiety rooted in fear of being unliked, and terror at taking on something new and failing. Fears that a compounded with this new endeavor.
I often can move past and through both of these anxieties. But this past three weeks have been a paralyzing combination of fear of failure, and confirmation that not everyone likes me/will like this. In the last year I’ve started and LOT of new. I’ve been brave and bold. And been met with both success and failure. Empty classes, low page views, the wrong pricing. New opportunities, packed spaces, and a paycheck (!) a paycheck! I’ve also lost friends, made friends, and had some rough confirmation of the very obvious reality, not everyone will like me. I’ve made it through the year, and I feel confident and capable, even in the spaces I’ve failed (and probably will continue to). So I just clicked BUY. And the podcast I’d recorded became more than just a file on my own desktop.
The technology end of the whole production was nothing like the creation. Talking was easy. Compressing a file? Creating an image? Figuring out the hosting vs. being listed as a podcast was. . . harder. I’ve spend the past days deep in tutorial youtube videos. Learning record, edit, upload, and make this podcast actually accessible.
And it’s almost time. It’s up on my hosting sight. It’s submitted for review to Apple (whoa) and Stitcher. My list of topics is long. My heart is bursting with words. And the weight of this new space to share, process, conversation start, and hopefully fill up someones cup with some sweet truths… It’s happening.
When I first started dreaming I shared about this. I created a Patron account. And I couldn’t even sort of believe it as the email notifications came in. . . people, you, were supporting this. I was able to pay for the host and buy a microphone thanks to YOU. If you’d like to keep helping me create this content, I’d love your support. I don’t plan on creating any Patreon perks yet, mostly because I would really like to be able to provide all of this for free, for anyone, and for anyone who is able to toss in a a few dollars to do so. But for everyone to have access to the same content. That may change down the line, but for now, that’s where I’m shaking out. To donate, head HERE.
And to hear me. . . stay tuned. I’ve got a lot to say.