The December 2022 Newsletter
Archives of my past self writing the words today me needed, and the reminders I never imagined would resonate two years later.
While searching my notes app for some inspiration, I stumbled upon a newsletter I sent out two years ago while I was in Scottland.
This was a time when I was massively depressed, suicidal, and unsure I’d ever recover from grief.
(I did recover, I am still here, and oh my goodness so much has changed).
Still, I read this newsletter in awe of the wisdom that version of me had while in the depths of a pretty dark time. She, too, knew that there might be something better for her, for me, for us, and this newsletter is a representation of the little shred of resilience that lived inside me and kept me going.
At the end of the newsletter I signed off, “As such, this post will likely seem silly and trivial to me in years to come.”
I’m sharing it with you today, because this post did not seem silly or trivial. Years later, this post was exactly what present me needed, and maybe it’s what you need too.
The December 2022 Newsletter
“Life Update:
I'm tired.
Two weeks alone in a secluded cottage was not the delightful off-the-grid fantasy I'd imagined. I'm learning that my itches to run away or hide are not an actual longing to be completely alone--they're normal, healthy desires to re-charge.
Reminder to self: Life does not have to be either or.
I go through seasons of longing for human connection. I spend hours walking through neighborhoods to catch someone's eye. Work exclusively in bars or cafes for the hum of background noise and occasional eves drop into someone else's world. A "what can I get for you?" fills my cup for hours.
Weeks later I'll be on the first road to the middle of nowhere. Whether figuratively (phone on do not disturb, Grey's on full blast, wine out of the mug instead of a restaurant glass) or literally (hi, here I am in Scotland thirty miles from a restaurant that only opens weekends for a few hours).
It's not that I am dependent on human contact for emotional wellbeing. It's not that I'm hyper-independent and disinterested in collaboration. It's that the old me is both, and the new me is neither.
It's that healthy, emotionally well Rachel enjoys the nourishment of human connection and feels safe to be alone and fill her own cup. It's that Rachel on the other side of a co-dependent relationship knows how to care for her emotional and physical wellbeing while understanding the biological importance of person-to-person contact and co-regulatory conversation.
It's that Rachel is still learning to move towards the new way of awkwardly stumbling through social situations instead of avoiding them. She is still managing the painful pause that comes between the urge to binge-eat when lonely and the option to choose something different.
I wrote about this "pause" in another Substack piece, click here to read more.
I am still straddling the middle space between The Old Familiar and The New Uncertain.
Reminder to self: Straddling the middle space between old self and new self does not make you a coward.
I try to remind myself to give my brain some credit for trying to stay with the familiar. To give my heart some credit for knowing the uncertain might be the better option. To give my whole self some credit for taking the next brave step and straddling the space between at all.
Reminder to self: Give yourself some credit for doing literally anything that has to do with leaving the familiar and braving the unknown. Fuck that shit is hard.
Give yourself some credit.
Reminder to self: It's healthy to yearn for attention. It's also healthy to long for alone time. Humans are inherently interdependent: the middle space where dependence and independence overlap. We are meant to be in the middle.do
Humans are inherently interdependent. your longing to connect, give, and love is just as neccessary for survival as your desire to recluse, be alone, and say no. You don't have to abandon one for the other. Both are healthy. Both are vital.
I am still straddling the middle space between The Old Familiar and The New Uncertain.
The older I get, the more I learn to live with nuance.
I have started to recognize my tendency to see people as either ors, when in reality we all carry wounds and frameworks that influence our actions in spite of our feelings.
I have often interpreted people’s behaviors in polarities: if they do XYZ it must mean this, if they don’t do XYZ it must mean that. I draw meaning with little context and create stories to fill in the gaps when I don’t have all the information.
I’m learning that I also have my own wounds and frameworks, and that just because I care about someone doesn’t mean I am always going to act from a place of love. I often still operate from fear, and I’m working on ways to reduce the scarcity I feel in life so I can come from a place of seeing all parts of people with less judgment, less criticism, and more understanding.
Still, I know what I’m capable of holding and I am learning to honor where I’m at. I am also learning to honor where others are and believing that everyone around me is doing the best they have with what they know.
My hope for myself, and you, is to start witnessing my relationships (to self and others) as opportunities for growth rather than attachments. If I am completely reliant on another to thrive, I’ll always be searching for something outside of myself. If I am completely reliant on myself, I’ll never let others in and feel the gifts of being loved on.
Life is one big long course in being human, and I hope to remain a student until my last moments here. As such, this post will likely seem silly and trivial to me in years to come, and that’s ok. For now, these are the lessons I’m grateful to have learned and share with you today.”
I hope this found you when you needed it.
All my messy love,
Rachel
Rachel Havekost is the bestselling author of “Where the River Flows,” “Write to Heal,” and “The Inner Child Journal.” Rachel has single-handedly built an online social media presence with a combined 300k+ individuals devoted to de-stigmatizing mental health. She uses her writing and social platforms to share her wisdom and experience from 19 years of therapy for her eating disorder recovery, suicidal depression, anxiety, trauma, and divorce.
To read the full story of my eating disorder and experience with depression and suicide, read my memoir “Where the River Flows.”
For more written work, guided journals, and education, head to www.rachelhavekost.com