Write What’s Honest, Not What’s Trending: The Intersection of Authenticity, Attachment & Artistry

Being seen and being criticized are not mutually exclusive.

Hello wild ones,

I hope you are keeping well and have been enjoying the holiday season (if you celebrate it) and for those who have been struggling this time of year, I see you, and my hope is that you have support along the way.  This time of year is always tender for me as someone who lives very far away from my family, and this holiday season in particular has felt more difficult than previous ones - perhaps because I just spent months at home reuniting with my loved ones, creating memories, and getting used to their regular presence in my life.  Regardless of the reason, it’s been tough and I have been letting myself meet each edge with a lot of compassion and space.  While my heart feels the ache a little more this time of year, I am also finding joy in little glimmers along the way - the soft ripples of waves on the shoreline, the reflection of the sun setting, and the sound of bird calls overhead.  I hope you, too, can find some of your own glimmers each day that bring you comfort, peace, or ease.  

A stroll on the beach during the Christmas holidays, a wildly different experience from my Canadian snow filled upbringing.

I have been reflecting a lot about my writing practice lately, even though at times it feels non-existent.  But, I know that even when I am not actively sitting down at my computer typing away, I am still, in fact, writing - because I am living.   Each time I go for a walk on the beach and pay close attention to the patterns the tide makes as it approaches the shore, I am writing.  Each time a wave of grief comes rushing in and I allow the tears to slowly fall down my cheeks without pushing them down, I am writing.  And each time I witness a child looking up at their parent with wide adoring eyes, I am writing.  Of course, not in the literal sense of writing, but by making space for a moment in time to meet me first, viscerally, before any words meet the page.  That, to me, is what writing asks of us - our attuned presence to a moment, even when discomfort arises.

But the discomfort doesn’t end there.  When it comes time to weave words onto the page we may meet new thoughts, emotions, or memories that we didn’t know were waiting to be revealed through the written word.  We may find ourselves unveiling long held beliefs, deep seated feelings, and truths that have been held down for years, sometimes decades.  To write is to be seen, by ourselves first, and then perhaps by others later.  Either way, it’s a vulnerable act, and one that comes with risk.

I vividly remember the day one of my articles was published on one of the most widely known and read platforms on the internet, with a readership of millions. I was sitting in a hotel in Singapore when I opened up my laptop and saw my article plastered, front page and center, for millions to read. 

I sat on my bed staring at the screen in disbelief, with a little bit of accompanying nausea.  I went from having just my friends and family reading my little email newsletters every so often, to thousands of strangers around the world seeing my words, in what felt like a blink of an eye.  

I wrote that article just two weeks prior while sipping coffee at a cafe in Bali, I think it only took about thirty minutes from start to finish, and little did I know a mere two weeks later I would be receiving hundreds of messages from people all over the world expressing their thoughts about my piece. 

Most messages I received were from folks sharing their experiences and resonance to what I had written, while a few others were messages of disagreement and criticism, but it was the harmful and aggressive comments that were alarming. It was the first time I had my writing viewed by such a large audience, not just my little email list, and with that kind of exposure comes a wide landscape of opinions and perspectives. 

I remember how vulnerable I felt in the initial days of my work being published - exposed, seen, naked - as if the whole world had one of my diary entries at their fingertips. That’s the thing about writing, it’s an invitation for us as writers to meet ourselves, all parts of self, more deeply on the page and witness what’s revealed - whether we like it or not. And then to share that with the world invites an even deeper level of intimacy - and with that comes risk. 

To be seen is to risk how we are perceived. 

And there is often a tendency to try and control the narrative, right?  To ensure the perspective others have of us is the one we prefer they hold - how very human of us. But it’s painfully impossible to appease everyone and we will run ourselves into the ground trying to do so.  And, it’s not our job to shapeshift ourselves into who or what we believe others will find likable or acceptable - our job is to be whoever it is we really are, to express how we really feel, and to write what we really think. Any attempt to appeal to the masses not only sacrifices our health and well-being, but also hijacks our art - because good art is honest, not fabricated. 

The online world is saturated with appeasing and safe “content”- the type of writing that collects likes and claps and avoids diverse discourse, and I can’t help but notice that I find myself searching and yearning for rebellious art. The type of art that makes you stop mid-sentence to catch your breath, the type of art that makes you ask yourself the big hard questions, and the type of art that draws you in and sends shivers of truth down your spine. The writers, the poets, the storytellers, and the creatives who share what matters to them, what haunts them, and what they boldly stand for - even when, especially when, it’s guaranteed to generate friction, those are the ones that I admire the most. Because they not only put themselves and their work out there to be seen, but they take big risks without any ounce of certainty and they bravely share what is alive for them, in the name of self-expression, not engagement.

A friend and fellow creative,

Kat River

, recently posted a thought-provoking article that speaks to our relationships with online platforms given the rise of people leaving Instagram and moving over to Substack, only to find themselves feeling unsatisfied yet again, with yet another platform.  She writes boldly, delivers some hard truths, and invites her readers to ask themselves some challenging questions.  It’s potent, and it’s powerful. It is a piece that reminds people that it isn't the platform in and of itself that is the issue, it’s our relationship with it - much like everything in life I would say, really.  She posted that it was edgy for her to write this, and THAT is what I value in creatives - the inherent risks that come with writing what we really think about and sharing our own perspectives knowing full well that there may be others who disagree or challenge our beliefs and yet still, taking ourselves to those edges in the name of art, to be courageously creative.

You can read her powerful and thought-provoking essay here:

The Shadows of Substack (and other platforms)

Over the past several weeks I have had the honour to listen to

Sarah Fay

audiobook, Cured, a memoir about her journey of recovery from mental illness after spending 25 years in the mainstream mental health system. She writes, in exquisite detail, about her challenging experiences navigating not only the pain of mental illness, but the often maddening and relentless fight through a broken system that isn’t designed for recovery, but rather, management. As a therapist and social worker who has worked within the walls of mainstream mental health facilities, I have witnessed first-hand how easy it is for folks to fall through the cracks and not get the support they truly need - to become labeled, pathologized, and medicated for very normal human experiences to abnormal circumstances. Cured, and Sarah’s first book in the sequel titled Pathological, are brilliant examples of writing what is honest, not what’s trending. It certainly wasn’t trending to call out the broken mental health system, nor was it trending to challenge a medical professional’s treatment plan and prognosis - it was brave, it was courageous, and it was honest - a lifeline for sustained recovery.

These days, we are hard pressed to find healthy dialogue amongst folks who hold polarizing perspectives - we’ve somehow lost the willingness and skillset to invite disagreement to the table, to encourage diverse opinions, and we’ve made critical thinking wrong. Social media has only amplified this new literary war zone, not to say that online platforms have caused this issue, but it certainly has highlighted the prevalence of psychological inflexibility. As a result, I can’t help but wonder how many writers are holding back from what they really want to say? How many essays, good honest pieces of art, are not being shared? And how many creatives feel stifled as a result?  

One of my long-time mentors, Gabor Mate, speaks about attachment over authenticity in the context of relationships, how we are wired to choose connection above all else even if that comes at a cost, and I can’t help but become curious about this same concept playing out amongst creatives.  Are we writing what we really want to write about?  Are we expressing how we really feel about a topic?  Are we actually inviting others to see us more fully, more truthfully, through our words?  Or are we creating in order to fill a void and in an effort to be acknowledged, accepted, and liked?  As creatives, of course we want to be acknowledged for our hard work and valuable art - that’s important - but what I am curious about is the role self-censorship may play when we create art through the sole lens of attachment, while authenticity takes a back seat.  Does our fundamental need for connection somehow, in some way, interrupt or worse, threaten our creativity? 

These are things I think about, and questions I always ask of myself when I meet the page - am I writing this for me?  For them?  For us?  What part of me is writing this, and for what purpose, for what gain?  Is it the part of me that is hurting?  The part of me that is scared?  The part of me that seeks to belong?  Or is it the part of me that can’t remain silent for a second longer because truth always trumps what’s trending.  When the desire to be liked or accepted through our writing overrides the truth of who we are, creativity becomes compromised, and art becomes curated.  If we are seeking safety in art, we’ll never find it, because being a creative continually asks us to take risks, and art isn’t supposed to be safe.  

The one thing I promised myself in the early days of publishing my writing was to always express myself honestly and share what truths rest within me, even if it was confronting or terrifying - I wrote for myself first. Because if I’m writing for everyone, I’m writing for no one, and that includes myself. And isn’t that the point of it all? To write what is stirring within us?  To honour the call of the artist that is begging for our expression of truths that rest inside? To breathe life into these truths so they can live outside our body?  The call of the artist asks for our devotion to the practice, regardless of how it’s received.  Because art isn’t about accolades, it’s about truth. 

Earlier this week I read a brilliantly evocative essay by

Jeannine Ouellette

, that speaks to the risks and costs of speaking up and using our voice, in particular as it pertains to childhood sexual abuse, and the shame and estrangement that can arise in doing so.  It’s a captivating read, deeply honest, and invites the reader to think and to feel, but more importantly, through her own narrative, her essay brings the reader on a compelling journey of self-inquiry about what it means to embody personal power by reclaiming our voice. I, as a reader, couldn’t help but reflect on my own experiences of abuse and the relentless shame of remaining silent and the cost of giving voice to the truth.  That is what art asks of us, to tell the truth and to reclaim our agency and autonomy, even when it conflicts with others who prefer and expect extraction from us. 

You can read Jeannine’s captivating article via the link below and also her follow up essay, another excellent and thought-provoking read.  

ilanotreview.com/money/the-cost

What My Father Knew

It is a relief to be able to read such high-quality writing, honest reflections, and diverse perspectives here on

Substack

, a space for rebellious art that makes us think, helps us feel, and encourages critical thinking - a breath of fresh literary air!

I still find myself feeling vulnerable at times when sharing my writing, but one thing I say to myself when I need the reminder is this:

If I’m palatable, I’m dishonest. And that comes at a great cost. 

The way of the artist is a rebellious act, for it asks us to speak, to write, and to create from the truth that lives within, even if it challenges the dominant discourse that encourages, and prefers, us to be submissive, obedient, or digestible. 

The way of the artist is a wild act, as it’s meant to be. 

May we write what’s honest, not what’s trending.

May we honour the wilderness of the artist's landscape and tend to each seasonal chapter with reverence. 

And may we continue to sharpen our pencils and let the page be a sanctuary for us to find refuge, with nothing other than expression as the guide.

Honestly unpalatable,

Laurita

As always, I am grateful for your presence here and for your continued support in my work. I invite you to share this essay with anyone whom you feel will resonate with my words. We are all in this wildly unraveled life, together.

The Writer’s Cabin, an online creative co-working experience for writers to gather with intention and devote their heart to their craft.  A space for you to meet yourself on the page, all parts of Self, without distraction and in service of devotion to the written word.  A soft place to land to meet your art and be held in community with guided facilitation to support your writing practice.  

You will be welcomed into The Writer’s Cabin like an old friend. Set up a cozy space for you to work and pour yourself a cup of tea. Pull up a seat at our communal table and briefly get to know the others around you.

Intention setting, movement/somatic practice, prompts for inquiry, writing time, community sharing.  

There is zero expectation to share your work, it is optional and welcomed for those who wish to express themselves.  

The Writer’s Cabin is the place to abandon perfectionism and procrastination, and to welcome in devotion and intention.  It’s hard, at times, to show up consistently and make space for art - especially while living in a fast paced, capitalist world that celebrates unhealthy productivity at the cost of our well-being.  The Writer’s Cabin is a place to slow things down, connect with like-minded writers, and create from a place of regulation rather than activation. 

Next Writer’s Cabin Gathering:

• Friday January 19th at 8:00pm AEST

• Saturday January 20th at 10:00am UK Time

• Friday January 19th at 5:00am Toronto Time

Based on attendance, I may change the days and times in future sessions to accommodate folks from different time zones. For now, let’s gather and let’s write.

Please register at the link listed below:

https://us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/tZUpcuGrqToqE9IiC_t25CS9QXkOoTDHBOrI

Also, keep your eyes peeled for a brand new and very exciting event for creatives coming up!

Give Grief a Seat

On Tending to Self

Listen to my podcast here .

Follow me on Instagram here .

As always, stay wild and go gently….

Laurita