How secrets maim us, honesty saves us, and a follow-up on the friendship thread.
My reaction to reading Dani Shapiro's 'Signal Fires,' thoughts on honesty & recovery, the one question to ask about your friendships, what I'm listening to (Taylor Swift forever) & reading right now.
I finished reading Dani Shapiro’s latest novel (her first in 15 years), Signal Fires, yesterday. I shared a review on Instagram, but the TL/DR is: it was phenomenal. Highest of highly recommends from me.
(Reading-wise, this year has been a Very Good Year—several “this is in my Top 20” reads—and I’ll do a roundup in December.)
There were several compelling themes in Signal Fires: family, parental love (and love in general), trauma, the East Coast, and the interconnectedness of our lives. Though, secrets and silence struck me hardest as I finished. The cost of them, of cordoning off parts of ourselves from others in an attempt to outrun the pain and shame, and how this twists and maims us.
Without giving anything away, as I read the story of these two interconnected families, never once did I think, “These people are so stupid. JUST OPEN YOUR MOUTH, SOMEONE!! Say what needs to be said, SOMEONE!!” It was sad, frustrating, and exhausting but always understandable. I got every character’s reason for fleeing, hiding, escaping into booze or food or work or other people. I know exactly how powerful a force shame is—how completely impossible the idea of telling the truth can be. So impossible as to be laughable.
Never, I told myself once, back in the earliest years of my marriage. I will die with these secrets. Even as some part of me knew the decision could not be that simple or clean, the alternative was simply…there was no alternative. I figured I’d pay the price, whatever it was, and that I could bear it.
I couldn’t, though. The price grew bigger and bigger over time, and so did the pain, and so did the necessity to medicate said pain, and eventually, the consequences of the medication were more painful than the pain itself. Eventually, there was only pain, wall to wall, in every room. Eventually, the consequences of the pain reached my daughter in a way I couldn’t unsee, and then I saw: there was nowhere else to run.
The decision to split ourselves into pieces is never simple, never clean. It’s a bargain with the devil where the devil always wins.
And this is why I will always say addiction was a fucking gift. Because it created a tidal wave of pain so great, I had no choice but to let it take me—not if I wanted to live, which I did. The first instruction? Open your mouth and say something true. Not sort of true. Not easy-to-say true. Not something inconsequential. Say the impossible thing, and keep saying it.
When I think about what sobriety means to me eight years in, it is this: honesty. Am I being honest with myself and others? Sober. If I’m not? Unsober, and let’s find our way back.
(Maybe it was always this. Maybe this is the universal definition.)
I cried all the way through the last chapters of Signal Fires, and when I finished, I set my Kindle down and thought, Thankgod. Thank. God. I know how to tell the truth now, and I know because I learned it in recovery, and is this single thing that has made all the difference. It sent my life into an entirely different trajectory. It is the primary reason I am deeply okay and at peace, even when things aren’t.
If this sparks feelings of fear or overwhelm or desperation or further shame in you because you’re split into pieces right now and maybe always have been, I understand. But also: this is meant to be hopeful. There is another side, and it’s available to all of us, I do believe that. Learning to tell the truth doesn’t make everything turn out okay, but (I heard this in a meeting at some point) it helps us be okay with however things turn out.
The one honest question you can use to evaluate your friendships.
Earlier this week, I sent out my first thread on the topic of friendship. As I suspected, it’s a hard, painful subject for more of us than not.
I’ve been doing a bit of research and reading on the subject and came across this piece, which poses a single question you can use to evaluate whether a “friendship is toxic” for you.
Is this tiring? Is it tiring to be this person’s friend?
I don’t really dig the word “toxic” because it can vilify the other person. Perhaps it’s just a better measure of whether you really want to be this person’s friend, whether it’s a reciprocal and mutually beneficial relationship, whether you genuinely like them or are friends with them because of history/status/need/something else. Also, I think it goes without saying, but a relationship being consistently tiring and depleting is different than someone going through a tough time.
I also came across this piece on female friendships by my friend and author of Ready to Heal and Mother Hunger, Kelly McDaniel, which is very helpful IMO. I think Kelly’s work on Mother Hunger is groundbreaking. Our conversation on Tell Me Something True was in the top 3 most downloaded.
What I’m listening to & reading right now.
Listening: Taylor Swift’s Midnights album. She’s a genius, I can’t hear anything from anyone who feels differently, so please don’t. (Seriously, please don’t!)
All Too Well was my way in however long ago, her Reputation album turned me into a fuck-it-she’s-amazing fan, and the folklore and evermore albums in 2020 and 2021, respectively, made me see her as the songwriting genius she is. Tolerate It was my number one most-played song on Spotify in 2021, and I listen to her far more consistently than any other artist right now, which is something I never thought I’d say without blaming it on my tween daughter, but the truth is, I think I like her even more than Alma?
Favorite tracks so far: Maroon, A Question…?, Bigger Than The Whole Sky.
You better believe I just ordered a T-shirt from her store that I will be wearing on book tour next spring, maybe at every stop?
Speaking of, my next book, Push Off From Here, is available for pre-order.
Please pre-order it!
Reading:
Rest is Resistance: A Manifesto by Tricia Hersey
Good Inside: A Guide to Becoming The Kind of Parent You Want to Be by Becky Kennedy
That’s it for this week! One of the big reasons for moving to Substack was so I can interact with you. Comment below on any and all of this! Do not hit reply, as I won’t be receiving or answering emails. xo
I love everything about this :) I have to say I’m a very proud ‘Swifty’ (?!) at 66…she’s fucking amazing…there are days when she’s all I listen to…and I don’t have a tween to blame it on! (Only my oft’ broken heart!)
Thanks for being the best reason to check my email :)
I was just relistening to the mother hunger episode yesterday. It reminds me how understandable It is that I have had so many struggles around finding an appropriate partner. It is not mysterious, it’s not a flaw, and it’s not a crime. What a gift this insight is, thank you. Also- I am a hardcore swifty! She brings female experiences— dismissed by the patriarchy— into the larger conversation And this feels really validating. Love her music and talent! Looking forward to reading Dani Shapiro’s book now! Thank you Laura for everything you do!