In Which I Rage-Write About Writer’s Block Being a Real Thing

Please stop saying it doesn’t exist!

Special note: This was written after hearing a well-known and successful public creative say writer’s block doesn’t exist. I had an angry reaction to that opinion, and this essay was what came out. It’s full of strong feeling, and I’m publishing it as I wrote it because I think it makes an important statement. It is not meant to be some kind of hot take, nor is it meant to impugn on a personal level that specific person or other people who say stuff like this (that’s why I don’t name them). Ultimately I want to give them the benefit of the doubt, that they are simply trying to help people when they say writer’s block isn’t real. And I’m sure that does help some people. But not me, and in this essay I tell you why. For an extended and more benevolent version of this essay, listen to my podcast episode on dealing with writer’s block.

Over the years I’ve heard a number of writers and other creatives deny the existence of writer’s block. I think it’s wild people would do this. It’s demonstrably false, or put another way, there’s a preponderance of evidence that it does exist: most writers have at one time or another experienced a block, even if it’s for a short period of time. So why do we still have people going on record saying shit like this? Let’s break it down.

First, a definition of writer’s block, because it’s widely misunderstood. A mistake people make is that it means you can’t write a word. More likely it manifests as a feeling of having to force the writing, feeling uninspired and finding no joy in it, and dreading having to do it. Eventually this will lead to being unable to write. I’ve experienced this in both short and longer bursts. If you learn to identify it early, you can manage your block so that its duration is shorter. The causes are usually our own fears and insecurities about our writing, but sometimes other factors are involved: mental or physical illness, exhaustion or burnout, time-management challenges. And sometimes it’s a sign that writing just isn’t your thing, or that you’re writing novels when you should be doing screenplays.

I’ve heard people say writer’s block isn’t real because its origins are often psychological: “Writer’s block doesn’t exist, it’s just your fears and insecurities getting in the way.” This is akin to saying mental health challenges don’t actually exist because they’re psychological. Writer’s block is often a mental health challenge (mine is of this type). And this kind of statement is also offensive to people who struggle with brain chemistry-related depression who are blocked. To the people saying this kind of thing: stop right now. Your mental health privilege needs to be checked.

You’ll also hear people who deny writer’s block say stuff like, “I don’t allow myself to get writer’s block.” Okay, good for you. Again, check your mental health (or other) privilege. Choose your words more wisely, have some compassion for those who struggle. Your personal reality doesn’t elide the truth of other people’s lived experiences.

I get it that many people who say writer’s block is a myth are trying to help. And it may help a minority. But mostly it sounds shockingly misguided and patronizing. And I think many people who say this kind of thing are actually getting a dopamine hit from it: it reminds them how well they’re doing with their own writing, how they’ve “conquered” their own fears and insecurities and “mastered” self-discipline. In a culture that sees hard work as a moral virtue (and writing regularly is hard work), they get to feel very good about themselves, even hold themselves up generously as an example of what “anyone” can do if they put their mind to it and simply refuse to allow writer’s block to happen.

If you are one of the majority of writers who struggles with blocks, please understand that it’s totally normal and it’s real. There’s no need to deny the existence of writer’s block in order to deal with it. In fact, accepting that it happens, that it isn’t an implication of moral weakness or inherent laziness, will help you move through these periods faster. It’s okay to feel insecure about your writing, to fear failure. If you are struggling with mental health issues that hold you back, you have my compassion and understanding: me too. Sometimes we just need a break, that’s the honest truth. I find that taking short periods away from writing every month or so helps me maintain my enthusiasm over time.

If you are experiencing a longer period of writer’s block, my deepest sympathies. After I finished my PhD, my burnout was so severe I couldn’t write much of anything for two years. I endeavored, I made strides, but I couldn’t write. To those of you who maintain writer’s block isn’t real or crow about how you don’t “allow” it to happen to you, here’s what that sounds like to me: an invalidation of those heartbreaking two years of my life, of the struggle I encountered finding my way back to writing, and of the challenges I still face in managing my mental health while pursuing my creative dreams. Do you really want to imply that I am delusional when I have writer’s block, that I’m experiencing some kind of hysteria, or that I am simply lazy, that I lack the character necessary to be a “real” writer? Please attempt some kindness and compassion. The world certainly needs more of it, and you sound like an asshole.

When You Don’t Have the Privilege of Mental Health

Grief over your unfulfilled potential is a normal reaction.

I’ve been given many privileges in my life, some of them substantial, but one area where I do not have any privilege is mental health. Since childhood I’ve struggled and suffered emotionally and psychologically. Much of this has to do with being an HSP in a society that isn’t built for gentle souls, some of it is inherited, and some of it comes from life experiences. Mental health issues are complex and individual, which is why they are so difficult to understand and treat.  

It took several decades of adult life to come to a place of peace around who I am and to figure out what kind of life contributes to me feeling like it’s worthwhile to be alive. And I’m doing pretty well these days. I’m happy most of the time, which is not something I ever felt I’d achieve. But I have to be very, very careful on a daily basis to maintain my peace. It’s the work of my life, what I spend most of my energy on day in and day out. It’s very hard to live this way, but I feel deeply grateful I’ve been granted my small lot of happiness. Not everyone gets that.

But sometimes I have mini-relapses, and I expect I always will. That’s part of life as someone who struggles with chronic mental health issues. There is no such thing as getting cured. Your best hope is to manage.

And you know what I wonder sometimes? That I’ll get to the end of my life and be left with the thought of all the things I didn’t achieve because my mental health struggles precluded me from doing so. Because every time I push myself for more, I know that eventually life will slap back—which it does to everyone. I want to be clear here that I’m not saying I desire or think I deserve a life without all the regular obstacles. What I’m saying is that I’m particularly delicate, and stuff that people privileged in terms of their mental health seem to handle with just a moderate amount of discomfort can put me out of commission.

Sometimes I look around at people doing what I can’t seem to do without spiraling down into that darkness and I’m gutted by the losses of a lifetime spent managing chronic mental health challenges.

Maybe you understand personally what I’m talking about, or have someone in your life who’s struggling with depression, anxiety, addiction, despair, anhedonia. None of us are untouched by the mental health crisis endemic in our society.

I want to convey what it’s like for those of us who struggle in this particular way. I hear a lot these days about sitting with discomfort, how important it is to challenge ourselves, how we need to push the boundaries of our own capabilities. I’ve said similar things myself on my blog and podcast. But the truth is that if you are living with mental health struggles, this is what you do on a daily basis from the moment you open your eyes in the morning. You are constantly in discomfort. Everyday tasks like exiting your house to buy food require you to push the boundaries of your capabilities. If you have anything left over to put toward life achievements, you’re lucky.

I hear people talk about sitting with discomfort and feel mystified: isn’t that what life feels like all the time? Is that actually something people have to actively try to cultivate in their lives? What privilege, what colossally lucky people these are, who go out seeking their challenges, who get to dip in and out of discomfort.

Everyone has advantages and disadvantages, and as I said I do have many privileges. I move through this world as a white person, as a thin person (which masks the fact that I am very much not in shape). I have some economic privilege; I’ve had the privilege of an education. But I also move through the world with an invisible and substantial disability, one that keeps me from being all that I want to be.

I work very hard at maintaining my sense of optimism and hope. I work hard at humility, and feel genuine gratitude for the small and large gifts of my life. But sometimes the grief at what I have lost, at what I will continue to lose out on, haunts me. Some of these things are substantial: my dreams of publication, having a human family of my own, having a career of note. Some are seemingly smaller, yet chronic losses: being able to grow my business, being the friend, daughter, partner I’d like to be, being able to participate in community. I am overwhelmed when I contemplate the losses that accrue over time.

If you feel like this, too, I want you to know that I think it’s okay to feel this way. It’s the normal feeling anyone would have in such circumstances. You’re not feeling sorry for yourself, you’re grieving. And I’m so deeply sorry that you are experiencing this.

If you do not struggle with chronic mental health issues yourself, you surely know someone who does. Hopefully this has given you some insight into what life is like for them. People with chronic mental health challenges are trying so very hard to just have a modicum of what regular folks have. These people deserve our compassion and respect. If you don’t suffer from chronic mental health challenges, thank your lucky stars tonight: they have smiled upon you and granted you many blessings.

Why Burnout May Be an Inevitable (and Positive) Developmental Stage for HSPs

If you are experiencing a dark night of the soul, keep going.

This blog post is now a podcast episode!

Once I was far enough into my recovery from severe burnout, a strange thought began occurring to me. What if my dark night of the soul, as I like to refer to it, was somehow a necessary experience for me to reach my fullest potential as a human being? It’s common for people to feel gratitude for challenging circumstances once they’re well enough in the rearview mirror, but this was different. I actually started thinking that my burnout was inevitable, and in particular the kind I experienced, which I term “existential burnout” (more on this below). I began working on a theory that not only was this burnout necessary for my own personal development, but that it would have occurred at one point or another regardless of what life path I’d chosen…and that it was a very good thing.

And then I discovered I was right. Or, in the parlance of academia, I found evidence to support my theory. A doctor, psychologist, and poet named Kazimierz Dąbrowski (Ka-ZHI-meerz Dom-BROF-ski) developed a theory in the 1960s called Positive Disintegration, which details a process that highly sensitive people (HSPs) are very likely to go through during their lives that is very similar to what I experienced as existential burnout. Unlike mainstream psychological and medical approaches that pathologize the anxiety and depression people experience when going through one of these “disintegrations,” Dąbrowski saw such emotions as an inevitable and necessary part of HSPs’ personality development. He believed that HSPs have a particular developmental path and that they quite possibly have a special purpose in society.  

Before I explain the theory of Positive Disintegration and its implications for HSPs experiencing burnout, let me briefly define what I mean by existential burnout. Some burnout is situational, like being burned out in a job or relationship, and you can deal with it through taking a break or exiting the situation. Existential burnout is a whole-life phenomenon, when you begin to question the very foundations of your life and beliefs. It is the state of emotional, psychological, and spiritual confusion and exhaustion that results from years or decades of trying to follow conventional paths and not finding satisfaction or happiness through them. This is essentially what positive disintegration is: a conflict between an individual and society’s norms, driven by a desire for greater autonomy and a feeling that there’s “more” out there, that results in many ostensibly negative emotions, a dark night of the soul.

Positive Disintegration is a complex theory, and I will only touch on the portions here that are relevant for HSPs and burnout. Dąbrowski did not use the term HSP (it was coined by Elaine Aron in the 1990s); rather, he referred to the constellation of traits comprising high sensitivity as overexcitability, or OE, which originates in an extrasensitive nervous system. If you are an HSP, you will recognize yourself in multiple types of OEs as detailed by Dąbrowski:

• Psychomotor: An excess of physical or mental energy. Can manifest as racing thoughts, jitteriness, and feeling an actual need to either think obsessively or for physical movement.

• Sensual: An extra sensitivity of the five senses. Super-tasters, sound sensitivity, sensitivity to light, etc. are all manifestations of this.

• Intellectual: An extreme desire for understanding, greater knowledge, truth, enlightenment. These are people who are driven to observe, collect data, research, analyze, and theorize. They usually love reading and are highly curious.

• Imaginational: Characterized by a highly active imagination and propensity to lose oneself in fantasy. These people can have very vivid dreams, see less of a stark distinction between truth and fiction or see truth as paradoxical, often find more pleasure living in their head than the real world, and are highly creative.

• Emotional: Experiencing intense and complex emotional responses, often accompanied by physical sensations. These people are often highly empathic, often attracted to or experience the melancholy or the “dark” side of life, and form unusually strong attachments.

I have all five of these OEs. The last three especially are associated with positive disintegration. So basically I was always on a path to existential burnout. It was required for me to reach a higher level of personal development, according to Dąbrowski’s theory. So why do HSPs experience this type of thing, and what purpose does it serve?

A simple explanation for why HSPs often experience burnout is that their sensitivities make them more prone to it. But disintegration is more than just crisis. It is a rejection of the status quo, coupled with a desire for an individual and autonomous path forward. HSPs enter their dark night of the soul because of the particular way that they experience this kind of crisis: as a disquietude with the self; the feeling of being inferior, not just when compared to others but in terms of what they wish for themselves. HSPs are highly self-aware and self-critical, and have a keen sense of themselves as being “different” and misunderstood. The path through disintegration for most HSPs involves self-education and what Dąbrowski terms “autopsychotherapy.” In other words, the path toward greater autonomy is individual and self-directed. Each person must find their own untrodden path – and this, in essence, is both the reason for and result of existential burnout. The outcome is syntony, a state of being in harmony and resonating with one’s environment: integration.

Dąbrowski believed that HSPs play a special role in society, that through their own personal experience of disintegration they could then use their learnings to help raise the level of society. But it is the implications of his theory for individual HSPs experiencing burnout that I find most compelling. I know that for me, I only began to heal when I stopped believing something was wrong with me, i.e. when I stopped pathologizing my experience of burnout (or letting others do that). How different would my experience of my dark night of the soul have felt if someone had said to me, “You’re an HSP, and what you are going through is a normal, necessary, and even positive part of your development. It’s going to hurt like hell, but you will find your way through it and emerge as a more highly functioning individual with something important to contribute to the world.” I wonder.

Does Shadow Work Really Help You Be More Creative?

If shadow work sounds exhausting, depressing, or just too woo, this is for you.

This post is now a podcast episode!

I have to admit that I used to internally roll my eyes a little whenever I heard the term “shadow work.” I knew shadow work was a real thing, but it sounded exhausting. My mental health issues mean I already live with a lot of darkness; I didn’t think I had the internal resources for some woo-woo BS that would just make me feel worse about myself. But then I ended up doing some shadow work accidentally, and it was like my creative core broke open and streams of light and color poured out. So, yeah. It works. But it definitely doesn’t have to be a whole big thing with candles and meditation. Here I’ll tell you why it’s worth considering if you’re feeling blocked, and how I got started.

First, let’s demystify this shadow thing. Your shadow is simply the stuff about yourself that makes you feel bad, that you’ve shoved away into a corner of your psyche in a bin labeled “All the Things That Make Me Unworthy” (my unworthy bin has proper title capitalization because being imperfect at that kind of thing makes me feel unworthy. . .go figure). The unworthy bin is accessible, because we like to take that stuff out when we’re feeling especially down and do a nice little PowerPoint presentation for ourselves. But most of the time we work very hard to make sure our unworthiness stays out of sight. We put up caution tape, build a wall, numb ourselves, whatever we have to do to keep all that ugly at bay. 

But our shadow looms large in our everyday consciousness anyway. It underlies our every thought and emotion. Have you ever seen the reverse side of a tapestry, or a piece of needlework? It’s a total mess. But you can’t have the pretty front side without that ugly back side. Creatives need to integrate their shadows in order to function at their highest level of creative potential. There are esoteric reasons for this, but I’m going to stick with the practical here. The main reason to do shadow work is that policing the boundaries around your shadow takes a lot of energy. Our shadow, like the truth, will out, and when we are using our creative energy to keep it down, we have less energy for actual creative work. In other words, it’s not shadow work that’s exhausting, it’s not doing it that’s exhausting.  

Shadow work isn’t actually difficult to do, but it is scary. None of us wants to examine our ugly stuff up close. Our shadow makes us feel awful about ourselves – that’s why we keep it stuffed away in a bin, right? It’s important to understand that the way we typically confront our shadow is not what shadow work is. Usually we only use our shadow to self-flagellate. But shadow work does not involve feeling bad. It’s about liberation. I stumbled into shadow work when I decided I’d had enough of feeling like shit about myself and invented an exercise I call “Embracing the Ugly,” in which I reimagine my ugly in a positive way. When I realized that this was essentially shadow work, I had a moment of clarity. We misfile everything in our unworthy bins. It doesn’t belong in folders labeled “Shameful” or “Bad.” All of it – and I mean all of it – fits into the following categories: 1) Untrue; 2) Not Actually Bad; 3) Totally a Good Thing; and 4) If It Is True, So What? Yes, into all of them at once.

Here’s an example from my own life. One of the secret fears I’ve put into my unworthy bin is that I’m arrogant. It makes me feel sick with horror and shame to contemplate. Why do I fear that I’m arrogant? Because I sometimes have arrogant thoughts, and because some people have told me I’m arrogant. That’s all the proof I need, right? Actually, no. Let’s fit it into those categories: 

1) Untrue. Your thoughts don’t define you as a human being. We all have ugly thoughts sometimes; being aware of them and acting better than those thoughts is what defines you. 

2) Not Actually Bad. You know who has called me arrogant? Men. Why? Because I’m an intelligent, self-confident woman who speaks her mind. Nuff said. 

3) Totally a Good Thing. Every creative needs a certain kind of arrogance in order to put their work out there. Creatives face a lifetime of rejection, even when they are succeeding. In order to sustain their creative spirit they have to personally believe that they are better than any negative or indifferent reception they’ve received, and that other people’s opinions are ultimately irrelevant when it comes to judging the quality of their work. 

4) If It Is True, So What? Seriously, so what? Giving space to these kinds of personalized shame judgements is how we end up exhausting ourselves policing boundaries around our shadow in the first place. People can be how they want and do what they want. You are the only person who needs to approve of you.

I did this exercise with all my secret fears and shames, and I continue to do it every day. It runs like a background program in my mind at this point, and has replaced my former policing of boundaries. The practice has played a major role in my own creative regeneration – for example, I don’t think I would have had the courage to start this website without it. It’s not the only way to do shadow work, of course, but it works for me, and maybe it could work for you. If you decide to give it a try, let me know how it goes!  

Why You Don't Have to Learn How to Deal With Uncertainty Better

You already know how to handle uncertainty fine, but may not recognize it.

For many of us these are the most uncertain, frightening times we’ve ever experienced. Not only are we going through a historic sociopolitical shift, but there’s the pandemic in the short term and climate change in the long term…and we have no idea how any of it will turn out. It’s normal to find this uncertainty overwhelming. Desiring certainty in our lives is an evolutionary tactic, after all: certainty ups our chances of survival. But I think most of the advice out there about how to deal emotionally with uncertainty takes the wrong approach. Trying to “get better” at handling it is a waste of energy because you’re fighting against your own nature. We are hardwired to hate uncertainty.  

What can help is understanding the role your personality plays in your experience of uncertainty, and recognizing the coping mechanisms you already have in your toolkit. Below I detail four personality archetypes and how they react to uncertainty. These are archetypes, which means real people can span several or all categories. I explore each archetype through its relationship to the following: 

Time. Our conceptualization of uncertainty is based on how we experience time, because time is how change occurs. We spend an enormous amount of energy either living in the past, trying to influence the present, or predicting the future. Understanding our particular relationship with time can help us understand our fundamental reactions to uncertainty.   

Traditional institutions of society. These include, inter alia, the structure of our politics, the public institutions charged with protecting our wellbeing, and the organizations we work for. People have differing reactions when our institutions begin to misfunction, as we are seeing now. Our attitudes toward these institutions and our reactions to their breakdown can be taken as a proxy for how we tend to deal with uncertainty.

Point of overwhelm. Everyone has that limit where they are exhausted in their effort to handle uncertainty. The ways people behave when they reach this point can be considered the extreme manifestation of the coping tendencies of their personality. Being in a place of overwhelm, therefore, can actually help you understand how you can develop your native coping skills.

The Stockpiler

The Stockpiler highly values security, and they spend much of their energy ensuring security for themselves and their families. Their focus is on the circumstances of the immediate present, such as money, home, and relationships, and their actions are guided by their imagining of the future. In times of great uncertainty, this imagining becomes fear based; they turn inward, becoming more protective of their home and family. When they feel they can no longer trust the word to provide them with security, they look for ways to increase self-sufficiency.

This type of person (remember, these are archetypes) generally does well in traditional institutions because of the security and protection they provide. They are attracted to organized systems where there is a clear and competent leadership structure. When institutions shows signs of breaking down, they are prone to see an acute and all-encompassing catastrophe looming.

At their point of overwhelm, the Stockpiler may resort to forms of hoarding as a hedge against the coming catastrophe. Preppers are an extreme example of this. It’s important to realize that the imagined future driving this kind of anxiety is just that: it’s imagination. Most societal catastrophes actually unfold over long periods of time and their impacts are variable across society. The key to a healthy coping mechanism for the Stockpiler is therefore focus: concentrating on activities that involve creating both order and useful resources (i.e. veggie gardening).   

The Spark Plug

Do you know someone who is determinedly positive, who almost refuses to acknowledge any darkness? This is the Spark Plug. When met with challenges they dig in and glare those challenges right in the eye. They are likely to say things like, “I don’t have time for unhappiness or worry.” Their focus is on generating positive energy, and they spend this energy on transforming their present circumstances in positive ways. They are the type who make a special meal from leftovers.

The Spark Plug is focused solely on the present, but their instinct, rather than being protective like the Stockpiler, is for improvement. Something can always be done to make things more pleasant, fun, and beautiful. This type of person also does well in traditional institutions, and during normal times they are a combination of both driven and adaptable. During times of uncertainty they double down on these qualities.

The Spark Plug’s point of overwhelm can manifest in martyr behavior. Like the Stockpiler, their need for control over circumstances is strong, and when pushed to extremes they meet this need through frenetic action that may not actually accomplish anything other than keeping them busy until they burn out. They key to a healthy coping mechanism for the Spark Plug is therefore grounding: filling their days with activities that contribute to the betterment of their environment or the people around them and involve some aspect of self-care (i.e. a meditation circle).

The Troubadour

The Troubadour is an observer of the world, and so they always sit apart. Their energy is used primarily internally, in forming understandings of human nature and what they might call “the way of things.” They share this knowledge through functioning as a mirror to society, filling the roles of artist, scholar, counselor, or similar. But their priority is their relationship with their own mind, and so they rarely become wholly invested in the here and now. The Troubadour’s focus is understanding the links between past, present, and future, but they tend to live in the past, as history informs this understanding.

The Troubadour does not generally fit well into societal institutions because they must always maintain a separation between themselves and the world in order to accomplish their purpose, the generation of knowledge. The Troubadour can react to eras of turbulence almost complacently, because they see change both as the constant condition of life and as cyclical: the world has been through many times of great upheaval and uncertainty and will again in the future. While the Troubadour cares deeply for humanity, they tend to feel that they are separate from it. They may suffer from a dissociative sense that they themselves are not quite as “real” as other people.

Their point of overwhelm is found in this contradiction: the deep concern for the human condition and their desire and need to remain apart. The Troubadour who immerses themselves in the troubles of humanity is quickly exhausted, but the Troubadour who always holds themselves apart can become lonely and bitter. The key to a healthy coping mechanism for the Troubadour is therefore balance: carving out strict boundaries between people time and self time, and enforcing these without guilt.  

The Renegade  

The Renegade expends their energy in active rejection of conventional mores, and focus on making life meaningful rather than the acquisition of resources. In this they share the inquiring vagabond spirit of the Troubadour. The Renegade functions somewhat out of time, as they are the type that is the least likely to get bogged down by the past or obsess over an imagined future. They skip through the present lightly, as they are never satisfied with the status quo. The Renegade is often an activist, and works to transform the present into a better future.

Because of their rebel spirit, the Renegade not only does not function well within traditional institutions, but is usually wholly uninterested in trying. Unlike the Spark Plug, who seeks to improve institutions from within, the Renegade wants to tear them down and build better ones. During times of uncertainty the Renegade sees opportunity to remake the world, and may actually thrive on the chaos. Alternatively, they may be so anti-institution they peace out altogether.

Their point of overwhelm is exactly this: their tendency to throw themselves into the whirlpool and lose sight of the possible in their pursuit of a beautiful but improbable dream. They either get addicted to the high of constant agitation and make change that is counterproductive, or they can recede into their own heads, absenting themselves from reality entirely. The key to a healthy coping mechanism for the Renegade is therefore perspective: learning to live with their own limitations and those of others, and to pick their battles.      

Do you see yourself in one of these, several, or all of them? Hopefully they can help you recognize your instinctual reactions to uncertainty and how to develop them in positive ways. Remember, none of us is doing uncertainty wrong! We sometimes just take what are healthy coping mechanisms a little too far under the mistaken and usually unconscious assumption that more is better. Sometimes all we need is to dial it back. This may feel like you’re losing control, but it is actually you gaining control. So you can stop exhausting yourself by trying to learn how deal with uncertainty “better” – you already have all the skills you need.

I Want to Join the Fight for Social Justice, But I’m an Extreme Introvert with Mental Health Issues!

How can I contribute in a meaningful way?

A curse of introverts, especially those of us who are intuitive feelers (INFPs and INFJs), is that while we tend to care deeply about social and political issues, we are also behind-the-scene types, if not actively avoidant of large group activities. We want to do our part, but being on the front lines – for example in emotive protests – quickly and painfully overwhelms us. And mental health issues can make participation all but impossible. The attention garnered by active forms of dissent can make those of us inclined toward background roles and a quieter approach wonder if we are doing enough. It can even make us wonder if we are contributing anything significant at all.

This is on my mind a lot recently, because I want to see significant and enduring social justice occur for oppressed peoples. I’m a white, cishet woman who comes from a privileged background, so it’s incumbent upon me to educate myself and do the work to make change. As an intuitive feeler and an HSP, my emotional response to the injustices I see occurring is deeply painful. And yet I struggle to actively participate in frontline activities in any sustained way because of my introversion and severe anxiety issues. I also have to limit my consumption of news and social media. The result of this is a lot of guilt.

I want to be clear that my personal feelings of guilt and inadequacy are not important in the context of working for social justice. When I show up, I push all this aside because it’s not about me, plain and simple. But in my own time this is something I grapple with, and I know I’m not the only one. This post is for people who are similarly struggling. Here are some of my thoughts on how to work through complex and difficult feelings about social justice work when you feel unable to participate in meaningful ways.

We need to stop saying silence is complicity  

Silence in the face of injustice can be complicity. We should not stay silent in our private spheres, and people and organizations with a public presence have a responsibility to take a stand. But silence has its place, particularly now, and particularly on the part of people who have privilege of any kind. The first and most important thing we can do is to shut up and listen. Without responding. Our opinions are not needed. We should be listening to the recounting of the lived experiences of those who need justice, and we should especially be listening to what they say about what they need and how we can help.

Guess what introverts are really, really good at? Listening. And thinking deeply about what we have heard. Why does this matter? Because just listening is not enough. We need to practice active listening. This means continuously working to examine our own biases and doing our own research to supplement what we’ve heard. It especially means sitting with discomfort, because discomfort is the growing pains of the soul. If you can do this, you are already ahead of most people, including many of those who jump at the opportunity to go out on the front lines. Demonstrating and protesting, while it certainly can be a catalyst of change, cannot equal sustained and deep work in the realm of discomfort on the part of every individual. That which we seek to change in society is rooted within ourselves, and the biggest and most important work you can do is in your own heart and mind.

You are allowed to be slow in your response

Introverts require more time than extroverts to formulate responses. We also generally prefer quality over quantity – we’d rather think carefully about our response to make sure it’s relevant and targeted than blurt out just anything. This is why participation grades in school are a nightmare for us. Our approach to taking action is similar.

This can feel really bad when the need for justice is urgent – which it always is, right? But it’s important to remember that change inevitably takes time (unfortunately), and that it really is sustained action that makes the difference. Very rarely do overnight revolutions occur. Most of the time, social change happens when a critical mass of people push for it, and political change happens when social pressure results in the political will to legislate. Demonstrations and protests certainly matter, because they are a very public way of showing how much support an issue has. However, most of the work for change occurs behind the scenes and in support roles. 

Guess what introverts love? Working behind the scenes and in support roles. Especially for those of us with privilege, our place should be in support roles. Taking the lead, unless it is asked of us, is called co-opting the issue, and it’s wrongheaded. As an introvert, you probably won’t have a problem with taking a back seat!

Be skeptical of performative activism

A performative action is one that is done for the sake of appearing a certain way to others. When you are doing something performative for personal reasons – because it’s an easy way to show up or so other people will think well of you – this isn’t true activism. It’s like window shopping. That said, doing something for the visibility of it has its place: this is what demonstrations and protests are. But it’s important to not mistake this type of highly emotive and visible activism for revolutionary action. The unfortunate truth is that often people’s work for change stops when the demonstration does. Again, it’s not that this kind of activism isn’t important – but it’s not the only important way to contribute, nor is it the most important way. 

I’m not going to list ways to contribute from behind the scenes, because you can easily google that. I will say that I find that using my money to help fund activist organizations, bail funds, or to support minority-owned businesses is often my chosen type of contribution. And I keep listening, learning, and examining my own biases. Paying attention is itself a kind of activism, particularly when it means you are sitting in discomfort quite a lot. Remind yourself that your discomfort is small compared to those who bear the brunt of injustices. Also remind yourself that you are allowed to take a break from it if you need to (while remembering that the people who need justice often do not have this privilege).

Being an extreme introvert and having mental health issues does not have to mean you can’t do meaningful work on behalf of social justice. If you’re like me, you probably already knew this, but have lacked confidence about your ability to contribute. I remind myself every day that change starts with the personal work I do on myself. If today that’s the only thing I do, it’s still valuable, and tomorrow maybe I can do more.  

Why the Standard Advice for Empaths Sucks

Empaths need to do more than just survive; we need to thrive.

Empaths are people who are sensitive to the emotions and thoughts of others to the point of absorbing and feeling them as if they are our own. We need lots of time to ourselves in order to process, and are often called too sensitive, withdrawn, or shy because our culture privileges extroverted personalities. In the last decade the character traits of empaths and other types of introverts have come to be more understood and less denigrated. There are now many resources out there to help empaths learn how to thrive. But most of the advice falls flat because it still defines us based on extroverted values. Its ultimate aim is to tell us how to adjust ourselves to fit into the dominant culture rather than helping us discover how to further develop our inherent personality traits.

That’s because standard advice for empaths isn’t really about helping us thrive. It’s about how to survive being one. How to protect ourselves. How to feel less. How to create barriers between ourselves and others in order to block ourselves off from negative emotions. This is based on the understanding that empaths need a lot of space around themselves physically, emotionally, and spiritually. This isn’t wrong, but the assumption that we need this space in order to recover from social interactions is a shadow truth – only true when you define empaths from an extroverted perspective. Imagine yourself living in a society of only empaths. In such a culture, introversion would be normal, simply human nature. In such a culture, it would be understood that empaths need space around themselves because it is in that space that we become fully ourselves.  

The skills empaths possess are a gift, and if we spend all our energy learning how to subvert and block our true nature in order to “survive” in a hegemonic extroverted culture, we have nothing left over with which to develop our gift. We are not surviving at all, in fact. We are living at best a half life, living in a realm of shadow truth. And here’s the thing: blocking doesn’t work. At least, I’ve never been successful at getting better at it. I still feel all the things, and on top of that I feel inadequate for not being stronger.

But there is an even scarier side to this. Many empaths, instead of learning how to strengthen boundaries between themselves and others, end up instead creating one between themselves and their own emotions. The emotions are still all there, overwhelming us, but by refusing to let ourselves feel the emotions, we alienate them, turning them into something dark. Anxiety and depression are often the result.  

What ends up happening is that empaths accommodate themselves to the hegemonic extroverted culture through an endless cycle of painful engagement and exhausted withdrawal. There has to be a better way. And here’s what I think it is: to stop defining ourselves using extroverted values. Try the thought experiment I mention above – what would life look like, who would you be, in a culture that is made entirely of empaths? We can start there, in a place where our personalities traits are normal, even celebrated.

When I imagine a society of empaths, I see a culture based on kindness, gentleness, and a soft approach to personal growth. No tough love allowed! Think the Great British Baking Show rather than basically every American competitive cooking program. Or maybe let’s just go straight to an episode of the Barefoot Contessa. I want to live in a world where people are nice to each other and see the best in each other. Let’s face it: that’s not what we have. The world we live in right now is pretty damn toxic.

We can’t change the way things are or other people, but we can begin to create the world we want to live in for ourselves in our personal lives. This can look a lot of different ways. For me it has meant deciding to no longer participate in toxic traditional work environments (I freelance now) and ruthlessly excising harmful people from my life (including some close friends and family members). It has also meant sitting with some very uncomfortable emotions. Rejecting a traditional career means that I don’t make much money, and that feels embarrassing. I struggle with regret and anger over past relationships that I stayed in too long. But I want something better. I want to be fully myself, and to see where that takes me. And that will never happen if I spend my life trying to accommodate myself to our extroverted culture by blocking myself off from my empathic nature.

Being an empath shouldn’t be defined as “too sensitive.” Maybe it’s time to define non-empaths as being not sensitive enough! We are empaths for a reason; we do have a higher purpose. We gentle souls are what the world needs right now, even if our individual impact seems confined to our personal spheres. You are more important than you think! And your daily work to become more fully yourself is important work.

Tarot Is Part of My Mental Health Toolkit

How I use tarot for psychological insight.

I still vividly remember the first time I ever saw a tarot deck. It was in a little shop my family stopped at during one of our summer road trips through the western United States. A bookstore, maybe – we were always stopping at bookstores to get me more reading material. This time, though, I left with only that tarot deck. I recall the moment I first understood what it was as one of recognition. This is for me, I thought. Tarot has been a part of my life ever since, and has become an important tool in my mental health kit.

I’ve never really believed tarot can be used for divinatory purposes. I’m agnostic about whether it is possible to “tell” the future, but I don’t use tarot that way. I’ve always used it as a form of psychological sequential art. Sequential art is a series of images that tell a story. In the case of tarot, the story is about the person being read for (the querent). People are often astonished by how uncanny and accurate tarot can be about their situation. The reason isn’t that tarot somehow “knows” you, or that the reader is psychic (though many tarot readers do possess powerful intuitive abilities) – it’s because tarot imagery is so rich with symbolism and metaphor that it triggers deep unconscious knowledge and understanding. Tarot can help us make sense of what we are experiencing, which in turn can help us move forward in positive ways.

I believe that people have both the right and responsibility to be sovereign over their own decisions and life. For this reason, I rarely give advice and I never “give” readings to others. Rather, I do readings with querents. I can interpret the cards for them, but ultimately only they can apply the reading to their lives in a useful way. Often cards have multiple meanings, especially when combined with other cards. By talking through a reading with a querent, I can suggest how the cards apply to their situation and use their responses to glean additional meanings from the cards. A querent usually comes away with a greater understanding of their emotions and actions, and often with feelings of peace and hope. 

My reading method comes from several decades of studying tarot and reading for myself. When I am feeling confused or fearful, I’ll draw a few cards and tell myself – out loud! – the story that they are narrating. Even though I remain agnostic about the nature of the tarot’s power, I’ve almost never had a reading that hasn’t made me catch my breath at the clarity it provides. For me, tarot isn’t an impersonal fortune teller doling out impartial judgments about my choices and my fate. It is a gentle, supportive tool that reminds me I have power a value in this world, even if it feels there are many things I cannot control. Reading tarot helps me feel less alone, and that the universe is supporting me on my path.

I’d recommend studying tarot as a psychological tool to anyone who is attracted to its imagery and personal storytelling power. There is no need to believe in anything mystical to benefit from it. While modern tarot did originate as an occult tool, there are many decks that have done away with esoteric symbolism - I have about twenty decks and am familiar with many more, so can recommend ones that might suit your esthetic. Please don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions if you think you may want to get started with tarot!  

I Thought I Had Depression, But It Was Something Else

My depression was a symptom of a bigger problem.

This blog post is now a podcast episode!

I once spent three weeks straight in bed. I’d get up to shower occasionally, but mostly my biggest daily expenditure of energy was reaching over to the bedside table to get more Benadryl to make me sleep again. Being awake was hell on earth. I wasn’t bad enough to want to die, but I certainly didn’t want to be alive. I thought I was depressed. I was wrong. What I actually had was burnout.

Let me explain. I tried for many years to treat my depression. Medication after medication. Cognitive-behavioral therapy. Wine. Endless rounds of falling into the abyss, dragging myself out and to the doctor yet again, only to come out feeling that there was no hope and nothing would ever get any better for me. “Treatment-resistant depression,” is what it’s generally called.

I don’t know exactly when I realized my depression was actually a symptom of something else. I suppose eventually I became so frustrated by the inability of medical approaches to help me that I started looking for other answers. I just couldn’t believe that I was doomed to feel like shit for the rest of my life because of some inherent biochemical or psychological flaw. But if the problem wasn’t me, what was it? The answer was obvious once I took brain chemistry and mental illness out of the equation: it was the circumstances of my life. I was suffering from the effects of years of anxiety that came from trying to survive and thrive as an intuitive feeler, a gentle soul, in a world that is not made for such as us. I was burned out from it.

In 2019, the World Health Organization (WHO) recognized burnout as a legitimate condition (a “syndrome”). Which is great, right? Not exactly. There is this major caveat: it is considered an “occupational phenomenon,” related only to the workplace context. Burnout comes from being overwhelmed and exhausted in one’s job. The standard treatment advice is to take a vacation, maybe change jobs. 

I think this is bullshit. Burnout is a whole-life condition, caused not just by a particular job but by the system that supports our work institutions. A system that prioritizes an individual’s productive and economic value for the organization they work for over their humanity. Take a look at the WHO’s list of burnout indicators:   

·     feelings of energy depletion and exhaustion;

·     increased mental distance from one’s job, or feelings of negativism or cynicism related to one's job; and

·     reduced professional efficacy

Let that last one sink in. Reduced professional efficacy.

According to this, the true cost of your burnout is that you cease to be an efficacious member of your organization. You cost them money because your productivity decreases.

The irony is that this system of valuation is a root cause of burnout. Even when your job is ostensibly for something other than profit, like my previous work in academia, it still always comes down to what is good for the organization, not you. Any institution seeks first and foremost to survive, and your worth to it is based on whether or not you contribute to that. 

You’re probably thinking, well duh. That’s just the way our system works. And anyway, everyone’s got to earn a living. True and true. But for gentle souls, this system is particularly spirit-crushing. We are not primed for the competitive, impersonal nature of it. But it’s more than that. Many intuitive feelers find that the institutional/organizational context just doesn’t make sense. It is so fundamentally contrary to our own personal value system that we often can’t function within it anywhere near a level of competence that expresses our true talents and skills, even as we exhaust ourselves trying to fit in. And this is devastating. It can lead to feelings of futility and hopelessness.

What really turned things around for me was when I realized that my real problem was that I was allowing the societal values of productivity and money-seeking to lead my decisions. All along I was chasing things I don’t personally value. I began to reassess my life from my own perspective, rather than society’s. This is an incredibly difficult thing to do – it requires a real commitment to examining and throwing away some beliefs that are so ingrained it feels wrong to reject them. Like deciding to not pursue certain career opportunities you’ve spent years qualifying for, even when it impacts your personal bottom line in life-altering ways. Or deciding that you are going to start “wasting” more time – see, we don’t even have positive ways to talk about being unproductive in our language!

Clearing my own mind – working to eliminate the cultural brainwashing – was the first and honestly only really difficult step I needed to take to heal from burnout. Once I gained confidence in living my personal values, and in a way that prioritizes my own mental health at all times, everything else began to fall into place. I’m not saying this is the way for everyone. But for me, trusting myself and trusting my values made all the difference.