The cage of Important Thoughts
Two fingers up to perfectionism
This week I decided to free myself from the cage of Important Thoughts.
Can I be honest? Lately I’ve found writing this newsletter almost impossible. An exercise in self-doubt and frustration.
Not because I don’t love writing (I do. I did. I have. I hope I will again at some point) or because there’s nothing to say (there is so much to say about everything), but because I’ve been playing an exceptionally un-fun game with my mind.
My little inner critic has been having a field day. Every thought that bubbles to the surface gets dragged through a filter of ‘is this meaningful enough? does it really matter?’, often before it even makes it to completion. It’s a perfect storm of toxic perfectionism.
If you want to suck the joy and humanity out of something I thoroughly recommend this process.
And I can totally understand why some protective part of me decided that Important Thoughts Only was a necessary writing rule. Living in these times of accelerating collapse, and live streamed genocide, and political chaos really makes everything hold so much weight. Add to that a lifetime of casually imbibed perfectionism and people pleasing as a survival mechanism, plus a jumble of bullshit ‘marketing rules’ and we’re in for a good time.
I can totally understand why my nervous system would take all that and freeze up. Like a deer in the headlights — so much happening below the surface but only a silent hypervigilance to show for it. Given those circumstances, of course writing would start to feel like a threat rather than a simple way to express my thoughts and experiences.
But fuck. I want to write. I want to spill my thoughts onto a digital page to send to you. I want to connect. There are thoughts about being a human and living in a body that want to come out. Thoughts about magic and liberation and power and belonging.
The thing about perfectionism, in all its insidious guises, is that it’s an inherently deadening force.
Perfect isn’t alive. It’s flat, tight, rigid. In my head perfect conjures a porcelain doll. Pinched face. Tiny waist. There’s no room for breath. No room for humanity. No room to be in process or be wrong or admit it or learn. Perfect is a tool of dominance culture (thank you, Tema Okun) that I want no part of.
So I’m freeing myself from the weight of meaningful. I guess I’ll just write what feels alive and see what happens. From now on, I’m going to try trusting that I am a conduit for something to be expressed, and that my work is to open the channel rather than judge what comes through.
What’s on:
The January Sale is happening! 30% off all somatic trauma resolution & breathwork sessions booked this month.
If you’re ready to stop running on urgency, people pleasing, and your own version of perfectionism, I’d love to hold space for you to reconnect to a more human way. Head here for the detailsAnother experiment in connection — the first edition of my Snail Mailing List — is being sent out next Monday!
I’m existentially bored with social media and sending you letters is as far from the scroll as I can get. Jump on the list for some sweet analog mail in your mail box. There will be doodles.This month in Studio Dreamland has been shaped around the theme of Living Foundations. We’ve been playing with ways to attune to stability in the midst of change - which feels like a particularly pertinent skill set these days.
We had a live breathwork last night (the replay’s up now) and office hours next Tuesday, plus there’s so much good stuff in the works for February. Come join us.
Three things:
I’ve stared taking myself out for a walk every morning. Like a labrador. And every morning there are gifts - a kingfisher sighting, a frost-crisp grass crunch beneath my boots, a friendly ‘morning’ from some other labrador-person.
I’m not saying you should take this up for yourself, maybe you hate mornings and walking, but I am suggesting you find a thing that brings you into relationship with the simple wonders of the world on the reg. 10/10, would recommendLucy Dacus released a new single and I’m obsessssed. Plus the Rodarte dress in the film clip makes me remember why I loved fashion school so much
I accidentally started the year with three books set in post-collapse worlds, back-to-back. Bets by Carrot Quinn, The Future by Naomi Alderman, and Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler. While that wasn’t the best choice for my mental health, the books were brilliant. Maybe just go one at a time…
This is Body Magic, a letter on embodiment, liberation, and magic.
join my community: studio dreamland.
work with me: one-to-one & practitioner mentoring.
send me some love. buy me a coffee.