I’d received a rejection letter just minutes earlier. This demonstrated that I was an utter failure and needed to move on—maybe take up candle-making and open an Etsy store or finally veganize all my grandmother’s recipes or literally anything that didn’t require putting words on a page. Almost instantly, responses began pinging my phone and inbox. Most went something like this: “You’re overreacting. Rejection’s part of being a writer.”
I’ve been prioritizing myself, something I’ve been unsuccessful at in the past. I am a survivor of sexual assault (SA) and child SA, among other complex traumas, and I live with the resulting PTSD. These experiences have caused me to value hyper-productivity and validation instead of taking care of myself.
I’ve always wanted to work in education.
The greatest shame of my young life was the first time I failed my driver’s test.
I had never failed a test in my life, despite the fact that my Pre-Calculus teacher frequently left for 60 minutes of our 80 minute period and never really closed the loop on what radians are. How could I possibly start failing now?
Being misgendered at random hasn’t always been a magical experience. Years, community, and devotion to self-discovery and personal development have allowed me to encounter such moments with curiosity and grace. I don’t have to be consumed by shame or anger. I can stay in myself, in my power, and learn something about the nature of humanity and the challenge of relating to others.
The first time I was paid for my writing, I pinned the pay stub to my corkboard. This March marked the first anniversary since I started publishing as a freelance writer. For me, freelance writing isn’t about the money as I have a more reliable part-time job. It has been a way for me to build a portfolio of work and learn about topics I enjoy researching and writing. Being published also provides a personal and public sense of legitimacy as a writer.
I have killed my cat a hundred times. In my head. Please don’t call PETA. Let me be clear. I love my cat more than I love most things in this world, and I believe that the only way I can keep anything bad from happening to him is to imagine all of the ways he could die.
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