You okay, friend?
You okay, friend?
And some other questions you might have.
Editor’s Note: One of the answers in this Q&A references suicidal ideation. If you are experiencing similar thoughts and need support, the 988 Lifeline is a wonderful resource. Please take care.
Oh hello! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? For those of you keeping track at home, it’s been more than a month since I decided to pause paid subscriptions and take a break from this newsletter. I took that pause to give myself some time and space to address some things I’m going through.
Now I’m back, and paid subscriptions have returned (more on that below). I am still working on said things, but I think I’ve landed on a way to return to writing My Sweet Dumb Brain while still giving my sweet, dumb brain the space and care it especially needs right now.
Over the past month, I’ve spoken to a handful of friends and newsletter readers who all had similar questions. That’s what prompted me to return with a Q&A-style update — to share where I’m at and where this newsletter is headed.
Let’s get to it!
You okay, friend?
I am. I have my share of good days and bad days, which is much better than a few weeks ago, when the bad days grossly outnumbered the good.
A month or so ago — around the time that I decided I needed to take a break from My Sweet Dumb Brain — I experienced a frighteningly low day. One of those “would the world be better without me?” kind of days. Needless to say, it was alarming.
It’s been several years since I felt that hopeless, and it was clear that things needed to change. I needed help addressing some issues I’ve long been ignoring.
Since then, I started seeing a new therapist, Billy and I began going to couples counseling, and I’ve been trying out (or at least considering) a handful of other holistic healing practices.
All of this is good, promising — and hard.
As I’ve shared with other friends, it was like I reached a breaking point and finally decided to organize that overflowing closet in my house that had become a real nuisance. I’m now at the stage where everything is out of the closet and spread all over the floor, and is a huge, overwhelming mess. I’m facing that classic mid-project regret: Why did I think this was a good idea, or even possible to tackle?
So, I’m as okay as you can be when you’re surrounded by piles of junk. I keep reminding myself that things often get harder before they get better. It’s a slow-going process, but every so often, I get a tiny, tantalizing glimpse of what better feels like.
Did you miss the newsletter?
I did! I did not miss the pressure of coming up with something new to share each week — and I definitely appreciated the break during my lowest points — but I missed the routine of writing and the comfort of community.
The break helped me see a few things clearly: How much writing this newsletter adds to my happiness, but also how challenging it can be to share personal details about my life in real-time.
A common piece of wisdom is to “write from the scar, not from the wound.” Whenever I’d write about losing my husband, Jamie — something that happened seven years ago — I’d be mostly sharing from my scars. Writing about my current experience has been much trickier.
These days, I feel like a walking wound. I feel vulnerable. And I know myself well enough to know how tempted I am to simply mask that vulnerability. To pretend to write from the scar when I’m secretly bleeding. (Sorry for all the injury talk! It’s gross, but it’s effective.)
I don’t want to do that. I’ve written from the wound before, and it really muddles the healing process.
That’s why I’ve spent a lot of time these last few weeks trying to figure out if it was possible to return to writing this public newsletter regularly while also processing some private trauma.
And?
I think it’s doable!
Oh yeah? Tell me more.
I’ll be turning 39 at the end of this week. Because I love a good pre-milestone project, I decided to write a list of 40 lessons I’ve learned in my nearly four decades of life. Over the next year, I’ll turn each of those lessons into an essay. Some of those essays will be funny, some will be sad, some will be joyous — and they’ll all fit into the brand and style of My Sweet Dumb Brain.
Many people before me have compiled lists of “X things I’ve learned at [age],” but I haven’t seen folks turn those individual lessons into standalone essays. (Dear reader, if you have, let me know! I’d love to read what others have done.) I think doing so will be a good creative challenge for me.
Because I’ll be writing about lessons I’ve learned, I’ll mostly share stories and anecdotes from the past. I might sprinkle in some real-time observations, but overall, I’ll be writing from a better place — where I can tap into that creativity I missed, while also giving myself the space to keep working through the period I’m in. I’m feeling good about it!
40 lessons. I like it! Will it be paywalled?
Nope. All of these essays will be available to all readers. As much as I need and want to get paid for my work, I also want as many people to read and benefit from this project as possible.
That said, I do rely on the support of paid subscribers. (These therapy bills are expensive, y’all!) I’m offering 20% off paid subscriptions for anyone who wants to support this special project. I hope readers will consider it. Launching this project is a bit of a leap of faith for me, and the financial support of readers will enable me to devote time to making it work.
And what do paid subscribers get?
I’m glad you asked! On the last Tuesday of each month, I’ll write about the glimmers I experienced over those weeks. It will be a way for me to focus on and highlight the joys, while also giving readers some real-time glimpses of life these days.
Paid subscribers will also continue to get access to the seasonal Zoom calls that Sweet Dumb Brain editor Becca and I host. Those are always fun and so very special.
Anything else to add?
Next week, I’ll kick things off by sharing my April glimmers for paid subscribers. Tuesday, May 7 will mark essay #1 in my series of 40 lessons.
The cadence works out amazingly well: With a subscriber-only glimmer post at the end of each month, that leaves exactly 40 Tuesdays remaining in the year for my 40 essays.
The project is ambitious, and I’m admittedly a little anxious about whether I can keep up. But I think the challenge will be good for me — and enjoyable for readers. We will see!
Looking forward to it! Just checking one more time: Are you sure you’re okay?
I am. It’s nice to be back. Thank you for asking! This reminds me that we should all check in on each other more often.
xoxo KHG
I am ever grateful to you, Katie, for your vulnerability and authenticity with your readers. Sending you, Billy, and kiddo (whose name is escaping me at the moment) all the love and strength as you trudge through this "closet cleanout." One of these days I hope to be making enough money to become a paid subscriber!
I appreciate your openness and glad you're doing ok (or as ok as one can in the middle of a junk explosion). I've also been struggling with writing from the scar vs. the wound - and find it's so much easier to reflect on that past than publicly process the present. I love the idea of your 40 essays and think it's an amazing way to keep writing, while also allowing yourself the space you need.