There is an episode of Gilligan's Island that I've hung onto for years. In it, a giant storm is brewing and the group is afraid that the island is going to flood. They decide to go to the highest point on the island and wait out the storm in a cave. But there's a problem. Not everyone will fit. Having drawn the short straw, it's decided Gilligan will have to stay outside while everyone else is safe in the cave. The skipper takes Gilligan to a tree and says, "hold on tight, little buddy!" Then goes back to the cave. Lightning and thunder commence. Inside the cave, the skipper grows increasingly anxious about Gilligan being out in the storm all by himself. He eventually gives up the safety of the cave to be with Gilligan, wrapping his big arms around Gilligan and the tree and holding on to both. One by one the other inhabitants also leave the cave to join Gilligan, everyone holding on to each other and the tree. Then the unthinkable happens! The cave is hit by lightning and is completely destroyed! They realize that if they had stayed in the cave, they all would have died! Only by joining Gilligan, holding on to the tree and each other, were they able to ride out the storm and come out safe on the other side.
My take (yours may be different): I have come out of the cave and am tightly holding on to my own truth for all to see. I will stand alone if I need to. Yet I know, those who are ready, will join me in holding on to the truth, and to me. We will come through the storm together.
I never let anyone still inside the cave have any bearing or say on how I hold on to the truth.
Robin, this is perfection. Thank you for this. I love your interpretation, what a profound way to describe this experience. It captures the feeling that, no matter which way we turn, we're constantly facing down fear:
If we stay in the cave, we're afraid for the one "out there." Afraid because we see the wrongness in the thing that alienated them.
If we leave the cave, we're afraid of what the people still "in there" might think. Afraid for ourselves.
And all the while, no matter where we land, we're afraid of the storm.
The way we get through this is by holding on to that which feels rooted, and each other. 🧡
I feel this soooo deeply! I self-published my own memoir one year ago. And because of same of the very same things you said, I did it under a pen name…to protect myself from the not-so-innocent people who were interwoven in my life’s story. I also changed some of their names. I don’t have much left for anyone to take, but what I have I didn’t want going to a money-grubbing succubus.
If you want to chat about my experience/publishing co I used, yes feel free to message me directly!
And I’m so excited for you. The feeling of putting your story out there is exhilarating!!!
I admire you for having this wisdom, Angie. There's something very empowering about that: you alone hold all the cards, and you alone know each of their real names and worth. Good on you. Please tell us about your memoir! Where can we get more info?
So honestly and brutally written. I get it. I’m 68 and still afraid to be honest about how I feel. I am a Christian, raised in a very religious environment and have struggled to separate the religious beliefs from the very personal relationship I have with God today. He is so much more than legalistic “rules”. It is “my” relationship with “my” God. I have been shamed for my being transparent and open about my deep depression and struggles. It embarrasses those who are closest to you, but it doesn’t embarrass God. It’s hard, deeply awkward and I’m harder on myself than anyone else. I quit journaling because I was afraid that if and when I would die, those I love most would find my words and even in death judge me. Oh sweet Lauren, I could go on and on. You are beautiful, courageous and your story touches me. If I could put you in a bubble and protect you from angst and hurt, I would do it!! But I can ask God to shield your heart and mind and to give you courage and I believe He will give you everything you need. It’s your story and yours to tell. I love you.
Thank you so much for reading, Carlene. I think what you've written here is a perfect summation of what so many of us feel. Don't stop digging in and asking questions and journaling your heart out. If you need to have a cathartic bonfire a few times a year to send your journals up as smoke and prayers and sighs, you won't be the only one! It's not really the writing that matters so much as *the healing* that comes from wrestling those words onto the page. 🧡
I read this before going to the farmer's market this morning, and I carried it with me the whole time. In opening your chest and laying bare everything pulsing within, you have coaxed my fears out of their dark corners. "Is this crazy? Is this foolish? Do I have some unexamined, deep-seated need for attention or something? Do I just think so highly of my own opinions and discernment that it demands an audience? Am I sick?" No, turns out we just want to lay below the billowing laundry together, stains and all. Maybe that's the only way to find stillness. Either way, I'm honored to bear witness- thank you again for writing your soul out.
This one helped me work out some much-needed tears. Yes. Yes, and again. Thank you.
I have made the choice to let go of basically everyone in my life who is uncomfortable with my stained laundry. They can still pass by and see it, but I don't invite them into my house for tea and a heart-to-heart anymore. I've explained myself to them too many times already, and they don't listen. I don't owe them anything else, and I can't bear trying anymore. But I find it empowering to keep doing what I'm doing, regardless of their opinion, and simply refuse to engage them. They may hold their opinion as much and as long as they like without taking up my time and energy.
Of course, I've only been able to let go of one collection of social support after having found another that I can trust and invest in without any need to explain or defend myself, because they understand perfectly and uphold the goodness of clean laundry without ever being bothered by the stains.
This whole comment tastes like reclaimed power. 🙌 Not in a flashy way, but in a sure, fought-for, tear-streaked way. Thank you for holding up a torch for all of us coming behind you.
"people would rather live with rot than do the work" damn that's so good. And so true. I don't write memoirs I write fiction but the core of it is just as open and vulnerable because it all has to stem in the same honesty otherwise it's bullshit. It's scary jumping with no net but it's the only way to write worth a damn I think. If your intentions are clean and you're not writing to hurt anyone, not out of spite. Then all we can do is trust and hope that our honesty won't be lost in translation. That the deeper love shows. But it's also not our job to make sure every reader grasps every syllable of it too. Just write as honest as you can with as much honest intention as you can and that's all you really can do. As Hemingway once said, "Writing is easy. You just sit at the typewriter and bleed." And that's our only real calling. Giving the people who thirst for real blood our real blood. Stay focused and stay hungry. Don't stop!
Yes yes yes. 🧡 I love your writing because it feels exactly like that: open, honest, true.
And that takes work. If it was easy to write that way, everyone would do it. You have to dig to the heart of it all, cut it out, and splay it out on the page.
Here’s to pure intentions, bloody keyboards, and absolutely no net.
Gee, thanks for giving such eloquent voice to my deepest fears with writing and sharing my own story! 😉 The bravery to air your own laundry, facing the spoken and unspoken judgment on the gamble that others might find their courage in seeing yours – or at the very least, on the belief that it’s the healthy thing to do for yourself – it’s a terrifying and identity-forging endeavor.
Thank you for walking this road, for the blisters and sprained ankles and thirsty miles, but also for the gentle bolstering companionship along the way for all those of us walking it with you, thinking ourselves alone.
Happy to walk with you, friend. 🧡 I stumbled upon this quote by Francis Weller recently: “Those who undertake the full journey into their grief come back carrying medicine for the world.”
Which is lovely and beautiful and inspiring. But, kind of to your point, it does fail to mention that the medicine bearer themselves is healed and made better in the process. We do this to free others, but we also do this because it frees us.
You get it. 🧡 There's healing in the writing, in the work. So, even if you don't share all the words that spill out, that doesn't mean it's wasted time or effort. It means that this is something you do *just for you.* And how rare it is for us women to get that.
There is an episode of Gilligan's Island that I've hung onto for years. In it, a giant storm is brewing and the group is afraid that the island is going to flood. They decide to go to the highest point on the island and wait out the storm in a cave. But there's a problem. Not everyone will fit. Having drawn the short straw, it's decided Gilligan will have to stay outside while everyone else is safe in the cave. The skipper takes Gilligan to a tree and says, "hold on tight, little buddy!" Then goes back to the cave. Lightning and thunder commence. Inside the cave, the skipper grows increasingly anxious about Gilligan being out in the storm all by himself. He eventually gives up the safety of the cave to be with Gilligan, wrapping his big arms around Gilligan and the tree and holding on to both. One by one the other inhabitants also leave the cave to join Gilligan, everyone holding on to each other and the tree. Then the unthinkable happens! The cave is hit by lightning and is completely destroyed! They realize that if they had stayed in the cave, they all would have died! Only by joining Gilligan, holding on to the tree and each other, were they able to ride out the storm and come out safe on the other side.
My take (yours may be different): I have come out of the cave and am tightly holding on to my own truth for all to see. I will stand alone if I need to. Yet I know, those who are ready, will join me in holding on to the truth, and to me. We will come through the storm together.
I never let anyone still inside the cave have any bearing or say on how I hold on to the truth.
Keep holding on.
😭 😭 😭 😭 😭
Robin, this is perfection. Thank you for this. I love your interpretation, what a profound way to describe this experience. It captures the feeling that, no matter which way we turn, we're constantly facing down fear:
If we stay in the cave, we're afraid for the one "out there." Afraid because we see the wrongness in the thing that alienated them.
If we leave the cave, we're afraid of what the people still "in there" might think. Afraid for ourselves.
And all the while, no matter where we land, we're afraid of the storm.
The way we get through this is by holding on to that which feels rooted, and each other. 🧡
Gilligan for the win!!!😃
I feel this soooo deeply! I self-published my own memoir one year ago. And because of same of the very same things you said, I did it under a pen name…to protect myself from the not-so-innocent people who were interwoven in my life’s story. I also changed some of their names. I don’t have much left for anyone to take, but what I have I didn’t want going to a money-grubbing succubus.
If you want to chat about my experience/publishing co I used, yes feel free to message me directly!
And I’m so excited for you. The feeling of putting your story out there is exhilarating!!!
—Angie
I admire you for having this wisdom, Angie. There's something very empowering about that: you alone hold all the cards, and you alone know each of their real names and worth. Good on you. Please tell us about your memoir! Where can we get more info?
Hi Lauren! I sent you a private message with the details. Thank you!
I no longer need to be bitten more than once to know how to avoid unnecessary harm.
So honestly and brutally written. I get it. I’m 68 and still afraid to be honest about how I feel. I am a Christian, raised in a very religious environment and have struggled to separate the religious beliefs from the very personal relationship I have with God today. He is so much more than legalistic “rules”. It is “my” relationship with “my” God. I have been shamed for my being transparent and open about my deep depression and struggles. It embarrasses those who are closest to you, but it doesn’t embarrass God. It’s hard, deeply awkward and I’m harder on myself than anyone else. I quit journaling because I was afraid that if and when I would die, those I love most would find my words and even in death judge me. Oh sweet Lauren, I could go on and on. You are beautiful, courageous and your story touches me. If I could put you in a bubble and protect you from angst and hurt, I would do it!! But I can ask God to shield your heart and mind and to give you courage and I believe He will give you everything you need. It’s your story and yours to tell. I love you.
Thank you so much for reading, Carlene. I think what you've written here is a perfect summation of what so many of us feel. Don't stop digging in and asking questions and journaling your heart out. If you need to have a cathartic bonfire a few times a year to send your journals up as smoke and prayers and sighs, you won't be the only one! It's not really the writing that matters so much as *the healing* that comes from wrestling those words onto the page. 🧡
I read this before going to the farmer's market this morning, and I carried it with me the whole time. In opening your chest and laying bare everything pulsing within, you have coaxed my fears out of their dark corners. "Is this crazy? Is this foolish? Do I have some unexamined, deep-seated need for attention or something? Do I just think so highly of my own opinions and discernment that it demands an audience? Am I sick?" No, turns out we just want to lay below the billowing laundry together, stains and all. Maybe that's the only way to find stillness. Either way, I'm honored to bear witness- thank you again for writing your soul out.
Thank you for always being game to lay under laundry with me, Kendall! 🧡
Your laundry analogy is strikingly accurate and beautiful.
Thank you! It kind of bowled me over as I was chewing on the “airing your dirty laundry” colloquialism. 😮💨
This one helped me work out some much-needed tears. Yes. Yes, and again. Thank you.
I have made the choice to let go of basically everyone in my life who is uncomfortable with my stained laundry. They can still pass by and see it, but I don't invite them into my house for tea and a heart-to-heart anymore. I've explained myself to them too many times already, and they don't listen. I don't owe them anything else, and I can't bear trying anymore. But I find it empowering to keep doing what I'm doing, regardless of their opinion, and simply refuse to engage them. They may hold their opinion as much and as long as they like without taking up my time and energy.
Of course, I've only been able to let go of one collection of social support after having found another that I can trust and invest in without any need to explain or defend myself, because they understand perfectly and uphold the goodness of clean laundry without ever being bothered by the stains.
This whole comment tastes like reclaimed power. 🙌 Not in a flashy way, but in a sure, fought-for, tear-streaked way. Thank you for holding up a torch for all of us coming behind you.
"people would rather live with rot than do the work" damn that's so good. And so true. I don't write memoirs I write fiction but the core of it is just as open and vulnerable because it all has to stem in the same honesty otherwise it's bullshit. It's scary jumping with no net but it's the only way to write worth a damn I think. If your intentions are clean and you're not writing to hurt anyone, not out of spite. Then all we can do is trust and hope that our honesty won't be lost in translation. That the deeper love shows. But it's also not our job to make sure every reader grasps every syllable of it too. Just write as honest as you can with as much honest intention as you can and that's all you really can do. As Hemingway once said, "Writing is easy. You just sit at the typewriter and bleed." And that's our only real calling. Giving the people who thirst for real blood our real blood. Stay focused and stay hungry. Don't stop!
Yes yes yes. 🧡 I love your writing because it feels exactly like that: open, honest, true.
And that takes work. If it was easy to write that way, everyone would do it. You have to dig to the heart of it all, cut it out, and splay it out on the page.
Here’s to pure intentions, bloody keyboards, and absolutely no net.
Gee, thanks for giving such eloquent voice to my deepest fears with writing and sharing my own story! 😉 The bravery to air your own laundry, facing the spoken and unspoken judgment on the gamble that others might find their courage in seeing yours – or at the very least, on the belief that it’s the healthy thing to do for yourself – it’s a terrifying and identity-forging endeavor.
Thank you for walking this road, for the blisters and sprained ankles and thirsty miles, but also for the gentle bolstering companionship along the way for all those of us walking it with you, thinking ourselves alone.
Happy to walk with you, friend. 🧡 I stumbled upon this quote by Francis Weller recently: “Those who undertake the full journey into their grief come back carrying medicine for the world.”
Which is lovely and beautiful and inspiring. But, kind of to your point, it does fail to mention that the medicine bearer themselves is healed and made better in the process. We do this to free others, but we also do this because it frees us.
You get it. 🧡 There's healing in the writing, in the work. So, even if you don't share all the words that spill out, that doesn't mean it's wasted time or effort. It means that this is something you do *just for you.* And how rare it is for us women to get that.