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Dear Tiffany,

I just have no idea what to do with this letter today, so I’ll just say this –

You are definitely doing some things.

Like, quite a few things.

A lot of things, in fact.

You are doing them.

AND! You are doing them quite determinedly.

Quite a few things, being done, with sincerity and determination.

High fives, chickadee.

But also, I know there’s so much snark in this love letter, and a subtext of “yeah, doing so many things, ’cause you’re such a fucking ridiculous workaholic and you can’t even make yourself a mug of tea because you’re so fixated on the idea that if you do anything this evening, it needs to be work-related” (I mean, it’s some really specific subtext happening), so I just want to take a breath and pause and consider something.

It actually *is* worth celebrating that you do as much as you do. And you really do bring an awful lot of sincerity and determination (and even passion!) to your various projects.

And it is worth extending some compassion to the parts of you that are struggling right now.

You can’t spend so much time soaking in existential dread and expect to come to these letters not dripping with it.

You can’t spend so much time thinking about labour and capitalism and scarcity and violence and harm, and expect to access an easy ray of sunshine on demand.

But the *reason* you are grappling with these difficult issues, and the existential dread, and the many projects – the reason is that you are deeply, profoundly, eternally hopeful and you think that there’s good work to be done, helpful resources to be generated, answers to be reached towards.

And you also have so much hope for your own role in your communities, and in your own life. You’re reaching for that.

I know it’s easy to sneer at the work and to feel stupid for all your moments of failing to relax or failing to do the “right” thing at any given moment, but the sneering just hides your fear that you’re going to fail. There’s something truer underneath the sneer – there’s hope.

And hope is vulnerable and scary, but you’re so good at feeling the fear and doing it anyway. Hope on, little heart.

Love,
Me

#100loveletters

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Dear Tiffany,

There was quite a long period of time when you wore long sleeves and long pants or skirts every day, and on bad days you went to bed in your clothes so that you wouldn’t have to see or touch your skin.

Now you wear t-shirts, and even sometimes tank tops, and sometimes shorts! In public!

And I just love you for that.

You are fairly clumsy, falling into all these trauma pits, tripping over your anxiety and your depression. Your emotional proprioception leaves something to be desired.

But damn, friend. You claw your way back out of every single pit that you fling yourself, and are flung, into. You may not have whatever it is that buffers and insulates some people from experiencing difficulty as trauma, or from difficult emotions and the fallout afterwards, but you are resilient like nobody’s business.

There was a time when the sight of your own skin made you cry – when the coarse dark hairs on your skinny little arms made you queasy with shame and you heard that sneering voice calling you a monkey (it was one person who said that. One person! And it haunted you for years!) – and you are writing this in short sleeves and your arm hair isn’t even that noticeable right now because you have a tan! And the hairs are sun-bleached! Because you have been wearing t-shirts all summer!

And in the winter, when your skin is back to blinding white and the hairs are back to their coarse darkness, you will still wear t-shirts.

And that’s just kind of lovely, right?

Love,
Me

#100loveletters

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Dear Tiffany,

You have permission to know that you need something, and to not yet know what that something is.

You have permission to need something, and know what it is, and not know how to get it.

You have permission to know what you need, and how to get it, and to not act on that knowledge yet.

You’ve defined self-care as ‘any action that honours your needs’ and sustainable self-care as the result of bringing awareness, intention, and compassion to those actions.

That’s the result of years of work, and the wisest thing about it is that you swapped out ‘meets your needs’ for ‘honours your needs’ because the act of acknowledgement can be a deeply caring act even if it doesn’t include an immediate step towards meeting the need.

I trust you, chickadee.

It will take as long as it takes, and it will be annoying and you’ll feel like a failure but you’re not a failure. It will feel repetitive and useless but it’s not useless and it is repetitive and that’s okay.

You’ve been wobbling on the edge of burning out (again) all summer, but you’ve kept yourself going and you’ll figure it out.

I love you.

– Me

#100loveletters

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Dear Tiffany,

Every time you manage to get the thing done, whatever the thing is that day, I am proud of you.

But also, it would be okay to take some time off.

I know that these are uncomfortable thoughts to have next to each other.

I love you anyway.

– Me

#100loveletters

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Dear Tiffany,

You’re having trouble making significant progress on anything this week, but I really appreciate that today you made small progress on a lot of projects rather than continuing to hope for focus and energy.

You did great.

Here’s what you did:

You have a bunch of big projects happening that will require collaboration or input. You sent lots of messages to ask for that input. Good job!

You have a couple other big projects that are all on you, and you made some notes and then stopped working on them today and did other things. Good job!

You have some other projects that are overwhelming and you asked for help. Good job!

You have been struggling with self-care because you’re really missing a lot of your rituals. You bought a milk frother so you can start making London Fogs again, and you made sure there’s coconut milk in the pantry. Good job!

You made dinner and cleaned the kitchen. You washed all the dishes! Good job!

You booked the library for September’s Possibilities meeting. And then you didn’t set up the events, and you’re letting that wait for another day. Good job!

You’ve lost a lot of time to despair lately and you decided to turn that emotional energy into another potential project, and even though that doesn’t seem like a good idea given how thin you’re stretched lately, that is exactly the kind of emotional alchemy that helps you get through these times. Good job!

You didn’t get any writing done but you did get a lot of other stuff done. I’m proud of you.

Lately, it feels like you’re trying to push twenty boulders up an impossible mountain. And you’ve been feeling like you have to push them all at once, and all effectively, and all fast. You can’t do that. It’s not possible. Just push them each a little bit, when you can, in whatever way you can. It’s okay to spend a day doing small admin-type tasks. It’s not a failure. I promise.

Love,
Me

#100loveletters

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cw – discussion of drinking, intoxication culture

Dear Tiffany,

You missed yesterday (but you did lots of other work, so that’s okay maybe? I don’t know. Let’s say yes.) and today is just one hell of a Monday, so we’ll take it as a sign and say today gets two love letters. You can bookend your day with them.

You will make it through today.

Earlier today you wrote and deleted about ten different posts about how much you wanted a drink this morning. All those jokes that come easy to hand and that mean “my life feels really hard right now, and I don’t have the resources to handle it, and I want to escape and I want some external support.” Alcohol doesn’t actually meet those needs, but it’s less vulnerable to make a joke about drinking your face off than it is to name the feelings and identify the needs.

You didn’t post any of them because those kinds of jokes – as understandable as they are – marginalize and harm the addicts (active and sober) in your life, and normalize intoxication culture, which contributes to so much violence and oppression. They are not funny jokes. They are relatable because so many of us feel like life is hard and we don’t have the resources and we want an escape and some external supports, but they’re jokes that immediately and sharply hurt some people in the community, and that slowly harm other parts of the community. It’s not that they’re always “bad” jokes, but in this context, they would have been. So you didn’t make them. (Except in that one text, but then you thought about it.)

Today, let’s aim for this – not getting rid of or erasing the toxic narratives that are inevitably going to bubble up on a day like today, but rather seeing them, recognizing them for what they are, and choosing not to express them in ways that might harm people around you. (Ideally, choosing not to express them in ways that might harm you, too. You also get to be part of your community!)

I know that you are able to do this because I know you, and I have faith in you. You are good at seeing what’s happening, and you are becoming good at naming it, and you are starting to learn how to recognize the impact of whatever it is.

Here is today’s self-care challenge, and anyone else who’s having a “Fuck This Monday” is welcome to join:

– Drink a glass of water every couple hours
– Stretch every couple hours
(Go ahead and set a timer on your phone right now for that. It’ll be annoying. You can turn it off after the first couple.)
– Keep your to-do list under ten items
– Eat something comforting today
– Take your supplements
– Make some art, even if it’s just a stick figure

Alright, onward.

Love,
Me

#100loveletters

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Dear Tiffany,

It’s all metaphors forever.

When the mean inner voices tell you you’re not a real writer, just remind them that you can’t even tend to your plants without turning it into a metaphor, and while it’s true that someone could be a storyteller without being a writer, it’s also true that you are a writer because you are a storyteller.

It’s important to remember who you are.

It’s important to believe yourself about who you are.

And because you’re committing to believing yourself, it’s important to tell yourself true and wholehearted stories about who you are.

You are a writer, and that is a true and wholehearted story. You can tell it’s true by the way it feels in your body – the yes of the deep inhale and sighing exhale, the feel of it in your hips and shoulders. The way it flows and feels, certainly not comfortable in moments of self-doubt, but right.

You can tell that the other story, the “I’m a fake” story, isn’t true or wholehearted because of how it feels in your body, too. The way it tightens and sticks, the way you latch onto it and gnaw on it and can’t let it go, because it is a foreign object and not a part of your wholehearted self. You used to think that the sticking and the gnawing meant it was more true, but now you can tell the difference and feel the yes-ness and no-ness of a story, a lot of the time.

You can trust your body to tell you when the story is true, most of the time. You can trust your body to tell you when the story is true when you are approaching your body with awareness and compassion and intention, is more accurate.

There are lots of other things to say tonight, but it’s okay to stop here, and go make some tea, and relax until the kids are asleep. Maybe read a book. That is a very writerly pursuit, and one you haven’t made time for much lately, and would be good self-care.

I love you, Writer Self.

Love,
Me

#100loveletters

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(Written a few hours ago.)

Dear Tiffany,

Oh my god, chickadee. This storm inside you. Just so much, *so much*.

I don’t even know what to say or how to say it or what I mean.

I see you angry at yourself for not having a daily journaling practice. I forgive you.

I see you angry at yourself for not having known what you wanted to do with your life at 18, so that by now you could be doing it. I forgive you. And I would also add, you are doing good work. Hold onto that. You *are doing* good work. (And maybe something else, too, that you would have value even if you weren’t? No, I know. Not yet.)

I see you replaying that question – ‘Did you have an idea when you were in grade school that you wanted to go to university?’ – and I see you *raging* at your high school self for having that idea and not following through. How weak! How pathetic! How stupid could you be?! You were not any of those things, and it would be okay even if you were, and, Tiffany, I forgive you.

I see you so angry at yourself for every fruitless branch on this tree of your life. Every career you have started and stopped. Every passion you have pursued and abandoned. Every hobby. Every goal. Every dream. I forgive you. And also, those branches are not wasted. It’s okay. You have loved many things already in your life, and you’ll love many more, and why is that a bad thing? It’s not.

I see you sneering at yourself in mirrors and I think, oh no, oh, no… dear soft heart, that voice does not need to come back. But if it does come back, if she comes back, I forgive you. And I forgive her too, mean self inside the self.

I see the ghost of your 18 year old self, before Tasha and the saving grace of her traumatized heart and her popcorn-scented paws. And I see the ghost of you ten years later and after she left, and both those ghosts are chased by monsters and I see the monsters, too. There is space for your ghosts. There is space for the monsters.

Chickadee, Gloom Fairy, small self – listen.

You are remembering.

You are mean eyes in the mirror and a sharp tongue cutting your own self down to size.

This week has been so good but this summer has been so hard, and it has just been so hard for quite a long time, hey? I know. I see you.

And there was going to be some danger in being alone with yourself. You’re not just being silly when you avoid yourself. You know what’s in here. You’re wise and self-protective. But, also, you can’t avoid yourself forever and this week was so brave and you did so well. Thank you.

And, too, there was always going to be some danger in coming back to what was good and what was not in the relationship. To resetting it. To recovering it. There are habits waiting to welcome you back. Ways of knowing yourself. Ways of speaking. Stories of who you are, and why, and what it means. Old stories you’ve outgrown, but you’re remembering them now. They’re tempting. But, let’s not, maybe? Let’s choose something else. You can choose something else.

This trip proved that there are other stories to be told, other narratives are possible. You don’t have to bring that old version of yourself, that you’ve worked so hard for so long to heal, into this next iteration of the relationship. Trust the newness. Trust yourself within it.

You are very tired right now. On a plane that was four hours late and then another hour on the runway, on a plane that will not connect you back to Calgary on time. You don’t know when you’ll get home, and you are so sad about leaving.

You are very tired.

And also very hungry and they haven’t come around to take food orders and you don’t have a single thing to eat in your bag.

It’s okay.

Breathe.

I see you.

I love you anyway. Every version of you. Every self. Even the mean ones. Even the angry ones. Even the ones who are convinced your best years are behind you and you fucked them all up – those ones are wrong, but I still love them. Every self. Every single self.

Forgiveness. Love. Acceptance. That’s what you get. That’s what you deserve.

Love,
– Me

#100loveletters