I Don't Want to Have a Silent Heart

So, I keep writing

This newsletter may show up as truncated in an email due to its length. If so, you can click on "View entire message" and you'll be able to view the entire post.

I realized this week that six months have passed since I started DARE TO BE DRY. And it’s stirring up and serving me all kinds of bits and emotions. I am a huge sap. Just ask my kids whose eyes roll every time something moves me to tears. It’s ok, secretly, I know they love this about me. So, today, I feel called to spill out here what being here means to me.

I bumped into a friend recently whom I hadn’t seen in a while. Within minutes of getting caught up on the usual stuff she said, “hey, I’ve been reading your newsletter every week and it is helping me so much. Making me evaluate stuff I haven’t been brave enough to look at.” I thanked her for letting me know and for reading and I encouraged her to reach out to me if she wants to explore any of it.

This thoughtful friend hasn’t ever commented, liked, re-stacked or replied to the email that drops in her inbox each Friday. Yet she told me she reads every one of them. I share this here to remind all of us who write on

Substack

, who labor over the work we cradle and then release each time we hit post - you never know whose heart it will speak to. Your words can reach far and wide.

We never know who needs to hear the words on our heart. The words that we, as writers, feel pulled to un-Velcro off that organ pumping beneath our chest bone. The words we sift through from the residue of our past and then pour into our essays. 

To every person who follows my publication, who subscribes and supports my efforts to keep reaching and writing, THANK YOU.

The first time I hit post, my hands felt shaky, and my heart had extra beads of sweat pulsating in my veins. I titled it:

In it, I referenced the gorgeous memoir, You Could Make This Place Beautiful, by

Maggie Smith

- a book that ripped me open and made me believe that we can share our hard truths. Maggie begins the memoir with an epigraph that quotes Emily Dickinson

“I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.”

In my first essay, I wrote about how until I removed alcohol, I didn’t know I needed a lantern. Well, until I started a regular writing practice - one littered with vulnerability, I didn’t know I needed others to hold that lantern up to me. I didn’t know that it would be other writers doing the same thing that would hold up a lantern so I can make out my reflection and recognize, “hey, that is me and I am a writer.”

I found it very fitting that just this week, Maggie’s newsletter was a Pep Talk. In it she poses the question: “What might you say, if someone asked you why you wrote about your life?”

Pep Talk

I’ve been telling myself all along that I am doing this for me. To get my power and voice back. Yet, it feels like there might be more. Maybe, just maybe, I am a writer and that alone is why spilling my words out feels natural. Perhaps it can be that simple of an answer. I AM A WRITER. And I want others to read my words so that they, too, may find their voice in mine.

Things are shifting as I shape and make this newsletter. I still write to get back to me but what’s happening is I’m finding so many travelers on this path of discovery. People want to walk along with me and want to hear stories ripped from the deep pages of my heart. The painful ones and the awe-inspiring-holy-shit-this-world-is-beautiful ones. 

I’m currently reading Your Story¹ by Joanne Fedler. It is a fantastic book that showcases how to write from your life, but for the benefit of others. Joanne tells her reader/writer: how you write is more important than what you write. She encourages us to feel into that fear bubbling up when you share something stirring in you. Make “I” contact with your reader. Let them gaze into you. You connect with them when you allow them access to your heart and pain. Her encouragement:

“Go in with a lantern, a shovel and a big brave heart.”

My lantern, my shovel, brought me here. To you. And I need to take a minute to cast some extra rays of light onto fellow travelers here on Substack. As one dear reader and fellow writer put it to me as we met by Zoom yesterday,

Rosemary Writes & Recovers

described Substack as a welcoming playground. A sandbox you feel safe in. It’s not like other online platforms where you find vultures and participants who leech on negativity.

There is a vibrant recovery community here - other travelers whose words heal me and fill me.

Dana Leigh Lyons

Julie Fontes

Michelle Neeling

Dee Rambeau

Caroline Beidler

Laura McKowen

Mia.

Tawny Lara

Cecily Mak

Jolene Park

Kezia Calvert

Kimberly Kearns

Jay Oberacker

These writers share their experiences bumping up against the world as they explore their stories of addiction, sobriety and all the beauty on this side that shapes their humanity.

There are fellow travelers here who model so much compassion in their newsletters - ones I look forward to reading every week and engaging with:

Amy Brown

Marc Typo

Satya Robyn

Noha Beshir

I read the words shared by

Deirdre Lewis

or

Lisa Olivera

or

Anagha Smrithi

and I am continually blown away by the depths of their craft. If you haven’t already, go and read Girls - an excerpt from a short story shared by Anagha. It is a story that stayed with me for days.

And, then there is

Jeannine Ouellette

who, unless you live in the dark and never come out, MUST be familiar with here on Substack. Everyone raves about Jeannine for good reason. She writes and leads

Writing in the Dark with Jeannine Ouellette

By far, hands down, you will get the most bang for your buck if you pay to subscribe to her newsletter. She offers a rich curriculum of challenges, writing prompts, and intensives. Her playground is the one to visit here! You won’t want to leave.

I find myself continually going to the words offered by

Stephanie Jucar Cooley

and

heather marie morse

Stephanie is real and raw and relatable always. Heather pours such care into

The Light Today

where she weaves a tapestry of daily rituals emphasizing the moon's energy. She typically posts in the 6:00 AM hour EST and I faithfully read her words before I thrust myself into my day.

If you are into photography, you have to slide over to

Patrik L

‘s publication

Nordic Lens

where he is cultivating community by bringing people together in his meaningful challenges where he invites readers to submit photographs centered around creative themes. So much fun there and the photos submissions are outstanding!

And there are friends I’ve made here who seem to really GET me. Who consistently reach out to let me know my words resonate with them and they offer me their fresh perspectives.

Christopher Creglow

Amy Carter

Jane Caron

Elisabeth Tobia

I’m looking at you.

My only complaint about landing here in the Substack playground is that my TBR pile of books is collecting a wee bit of dust. There are just so many great newsletters here!

I write because I don’t want to have a silent heart. I come here continually so that mine can speak. My heart sees yours. And wants to keep coming back. I hope you’ll stay and play.

Photo by Hush Naidoo Jade Photography on Unsplash

TELL US:

• How does sharing vulnerably show up in your life?

• Has your relationship with Substack evolved and is it changing how you read or write?

  If something spoke to you here, would you consider sharing it or passing it on? Your word of recommendation helps grow my reader community and helps expand my heart.

  If you enjoyed reading this piece, please click and send me some hearts and consider a re-stack. I appreciate you!

1. Your Story by Joanne Fedler