A note of context: I played ultimate competitively for a long time, and this newsletter began as an effort to examine life through the lens of the sport.
Have you ever gone camping, only to have Adele keep you up at night? If so, some teammates and I can relate. A few years back, on the Saturday night of a team retreat, a friend bid us good evening, retired to his tent, and fired up his portable speaker. From the time we put out the campfire until sunrise, that big, booming, love-sick voice blared into the pine-scented air.
Adele’s new single, Easy on Me, is all over the radio right now. When I hear it, I can’t help but think of those guys and laugh about that night. I recently texted a few of them about it, and one asked whether I was actually thinking of the time when, on a different backpacking trip, the same DJ treated everyone to all-night Lana Del Rey. The dude has a track record.
Adele makes me do more than just laugh
A song can bring back a whole ocean of memories. So can all the other stuff that isn’t really about frisbee but that frisbee is full of– meals, places, pieces of clothing. We’re constantly touching little things that make us who we are.
The chorus of Easy on Me, which Adele sings in her standard full-volume, full-expression style hate it or love it, by the way), goes like this:
Go easy on me, baby
I was still a child
Didn't get the chance to
Feel the world around me
I had no time to choose
What I chose to do
So go easy on me
I can’t say what she’s speaking to here, which is how it should be; no songwriter owes listeners an explanation of intent. Besides, it really doesn’t matter.
For me, these words are only about one thing: the psychological abuse and emotional neglect that I endured as a child.
That’s heavy, I know. But I have this sense that in order to live a full life–let alone keep writing this newsletter--there are certain things I need to bring to light. A random Adele song and funny story about a quirky teammate are as good a cover for vulnerability as any.
My dad loved me, but he also mistreated me
I’ll start with a little context. My dad’s parents were religiously dogmatic, and they taught him that he was rotten at his core. From the time he was 6 until the day he died, he battled serious illnesses that ranged from juvenile diabetes to organ failure to various cancers. In his late 30s, after having three kids with my mom, he found the courage to be honest about a sexuality he was conditioned to be deeply ashamed of.
As a result, Dad carried a lot of doubt about whether he was worthy of unconditional love. Also, the specter of death was so constant that he had a hard time living. On so many days, he felt angry, hurt, and alone.
One way that he coped was by leaning on me in ways that a parent should not lean on a child. Because he didn’t have the skills, support systems, or role models necessary to move through some very difficult realities in a healthy way, he turned to me for emotional and psychological care.
Well before my 10th birthday, my dad looked to me to be his confidant and therapist. He spoke openly with me about his fears, heartaches, doubts, curiosities, and angst, all with the implication that without me, he couldn’t bear it.
This made parts of my upbringing confusing, scary, and exhausting. While at the time I thought I was fulfilling a duty by offering comfort and advice, what I was really doing was taking on an emotional burden far too heavy to carry. This dynamic was the foundation of a toxic environment that left a child’s needs unmet. If I could go back and speak up for myself, I could do worse than borrowing words from Adele: go easy on me.
Dad did the best he could with what he had, and he loved my siblings and me with all of his heart. But even if you love someone, you can still abuse them.
Childhood is a complex knot to untie
So much flows from how I grew up. The rage and shame I’ve recently written about, certainly, but also confusion and frustration and depression and self sabotaging and using other people and deep, deep grief. In virtually every case, there’s a direct path back to wounds I sustained as a kid.
To say that it started with me and my dad wouldn’t be right, though. If his upbringing led to the path he and I walked, aren’t his parents’ experiences just as much a part of the picture? And what about his parents’ parents, and theirs? You see where this is going. The weights we carry stretch across more space and time than we can fathom.
There’s also the fact that the world clouds our awareness of what we’ve gone through, in all kinds of ways. I’ve been chatting with an old frisbee friend about just how similar our childhoods were, and I’ve been really struck by the fact that we’re only now discussing this despite having known each other for a long time. We’ve run track workouts, hung out on the sidelines, and traveled together more times than I can count, and we’re only seeing this now. I can’t blame us, though. The tools we need are hard to come by.
I know my story isn’t your story, and vice versa. But we’re all carrying something. We’ve all got ghosts lurking in places as random as the songs that come on the radio. The hard stuff is just as real as the funny stuff even if it is tougher to be with.
Whatever’s on your shoulders, don’t ever tell yourself that you’re lazy or weak or lacking in work ethic. Lugging this stuff around is taxing as hell, and it takes a real toll. Also, despite how it might feel, you’re not alone.
Let’s go easy on ourselves.
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What I do, beyond writing
I do more than just write this newsletter, and I’d love to give you a snapshot in hopes that my work will reach the find people:
I host expressive writing groups where people show up, do some free writing, share, and repeat. The idea is to use writing as a way to pause, take stock of what we’re thinking and feeling, and hold space for one another, all of which are really nourishing. The above has more info, but if you want to skip straight to signing up, here you go.
I edit all kinds of writing, from technical stuff to personal stories. Lately, I’ve been doing lots of grad school essays and job cover letters.
If you don’t have any specific writing that you’re working on but would like to strengthen your writing skills more generally, I can work with you there, too.
If this could be useful to you or anyone you know, please reach out!
Be well, and enjoy your week.
-Jonathan