I'm not okay

Meditations on the performance of the stable self

Last week, at a reading by trans writer and performer Erica Dawn Lyle, she wrote/presented about the “performance of the stable self” and I immediately thought of this Substack.

Erica Dawn Lyle at the Bishop in Bloomington, Indiana

What I believe Lyle was referring to as the “stable self” is a fixed concept of ego. A singular perspective about the Erica that was on stage reading to all of us. It’s a performance, she was telling us. There is no one version of herself that’s a fixed unit.

But the idea of the “performance of the stable self” made me think about how I feel this obligation as a “public person” through this Substack to be a stable and comforting presence in times of uncertainty.

See, I feel most comfortable sharing my work when I can be the bearer of practical insights and words of hope. And sometimes presenting these pretty, comforting ideas feels like covering up the huge mess of doubt, insecurities, and fear that are also present in my mind in any given moment.

For weeks, I’ve attempted to write for Radical Soul, drafts left unfinished on my laptop or simply outlines in my brain. I’ve been blocked by fatigue, sickness, or a simple lack of bandwidth. But a bigger problem is this overarching belief that I need to come to you with solutions.

Right now, I feel like I’m in the middle of everything. For instance, I’ve been reading and thinking a lot about how to meditate on darkness. Darkness as uncertainty and the unknown; darkness as the womb, as death and rebirth; darkness as a place of terror and awe. I’ve wanted to share with you what I discovered reading Zenju Earthlyn Manuel’s book Opening to Darkness, as well as Francis Weller’s The Wild Edge of Sorrow. But instinctively I know I’m not ready to share anything with you yet. And, to be honest, I’m left feeling impatient.

I’m also in the middle of a very painful process of trying to sell multiple books: a novel I wrote with my brother and a book of essays on shame. When I say painful, it’s because the first novel my brother and I wrote together did not sell, and we’ve been hopeful that the second time around will be better. And the book of essays is a revision of a memoir that also did not sell. It’s poignant when the attempt to sell a book about shame fills one with shame — and that’s the journey.

I should also say that I’m bursting at the seams to tell you all what I’ve been learning about shame and self-love. But I’m not ready yet. It’s coming …

Finally, for a couple of years now, the Hierophant card has been showing up in readings. It never did before — I rarely drew it. And I know that the Universe is asking me to step up and become a spiritual leader. A couple of weeks ago, during a meditation practice, I realized that what this meant for me was to be more dedicated to spiritual study and practices. To treat it as a job. And I am. But I very much still feel like a student who hasn’t graduated, and the thing I’m struggling with right now is what does the student have to share with the world?

From The Wild Unknown Deck, which is my main Tarot deck

Back in October, I wrote about how we often feel a communal responsibility to be positive and to find the silver lining in whatever we’re struggling with. But this responsibility often forces us to cover up or downplay our grief, as well as systemic issues that are causing our pain and discomfort.

I believe this — that we don’t owe anyone a silver lining. And yet, I can’t resist the urge to finish this post on a positive note, because I also believe we need all the hope, comfort, and joy we can get right now. In addition, I believe it would be inauthentic to let you all believe that I’m only a mess, which is so untrue. Readers, there’s also always so much to be grateful for.

Lately, as I wait to hear back from publishers, and I struggle with discouraging news from around the world, and I struggle with what it means to be a person of faith, there’s one spiritual practice that’s been very helpful. I learned it from Buddhist writer Susan Piver in her beautiful book, The Wisdom of a Broken Heart. Piver writes:

When you are in the pits of despair, stop. Tune in to what you admire or respect most: it could be God, Jesus, a saint, Mother Nature, quantum physics, the power of love, or your own highest wisdom. Whatever it is, offer it your sorrow, your rage, your fear, your hatred, with the wish that whoever or whatever is on the receiving end will enjoy the display of color, light, and life—and somehow put it to good use.

Frequently when I’m doing my daily morning walk with the dogs in the woods, I check in with myself about everything that I’m feeling, and I name it all. Then I offer it all back to the universe to somehow put to good use. And somehow, yes, I do believe it will help the universe, even if it’s only by processing my feelings, learning to accept them, and cultivating compassion for myself and others.

As I end this post, here’s what I’m feeling. I offer it up to the Universe.

Impatience

Fear

Gratitude

Hope

Doubt

Pride

Grief

Love

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Featured image is Seeds of Doubt by Sharon Hinchliffe.

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