5 things for friday
why is it so hard to ask for help? plus the content that kept me sane this week
happy friday, friends!
i originally had another intro planned for today’s newsletter - one that was, inevitably, a little bit lighter than this. a recap of my lovely weekend at home in massachusetts with my family, a weekend in which i spent time with my best friend joia and perused the wares of not one but two antique malls and listened to an entire audiobook (more on that below!). but then i opened up my email, and saw the latest from platonic love, and in particular, this quote:
and i felt like i’d been punched in the gut. partially because i felt very seen by those two sentences—i, too, like being the one to give help, vs. the one to ask for it—and partially because i realized that in some ways, i’ve felt a bit let down by my network over the past few months.
but i don’t think it’s their fault. i think it’s mine.
this week in therapy, while talking through a tough moment i’d encountered over the weekend with my family, my therapist posited that i tend to struggle—generally speaking—with a lack of accountability on the part of others, because i myself am “so accountable.”
does that feel true to you? she asked.
i thought about it for a moment. did it? i mean, sure, i think of myself as responsible, and logical, and pragmatic, for the most part. i am a person who takes great pride in knowing that i can handle the thing, and so i tend to struggle—and in my weaker moments, even look down upon—those who can’t.
is it possible, she asked me, that part of the reason that you struggle with those who don’t take accountability for their actions because deep down, there’s a part of you that wishes you could be like that?
be like what? i wanted to know. i had—and have—no desire to be less responsible for my own personhood, or to be the one who needs help all the time, or to refuse to take accountability for my actions.
but! i do, at times, envy the DGAF-ness with which others seem to move through the world, because i am a person who gives all the fucks, all the time.
i guess there’s a part of me that feels that way, yes, i admitted. but it was less about wanting to be less accountable—to myself, to others—and more about wanting to not have to be so self-sufficient all the time.
call it eldest daughter syndrome. call it being a capricorn. call it being type a, or a perfectionist, or just a person who has been single forever and therefore has learned to go it alone, but i am about as self-sufficient as they come. i am not without financial or racial privilege, to be certain—but rarely do i request the assistance of others to do the thing, or make a decision, or have a tough conversation. i can, nearly always, handle it myself.
as a result of this, i struggle to ask for help. even when i need it. the very thought of it feels like filleting myself like a fish, feels like admitting i have failed, feels like walking the street butt naked with all my bumps and wobbly bits hanging out.
last week, i had the type of long, we’re going to need the entire bottle of wine and multiple apps kind of catch-up dinner with hannah, my former (and hopefully someday again!) partner at work. somewhere along the way, she asked if i’d changed my linkedin status to denote that i was looking for work.
i’ve changed it for recruiters, i said. but not for everyone to see.
girl, she said. why not?!
i don’t know, i said, stuffing a piece of focaccia in my mouth. it sort of feels like if i have to do that, people will think i’ve failed. like, i got fired or got laid off or something. i mean, i know i left of my own volition, but…
hannah shook her head, and said something along the lines of, you have got to figure out how to care a little bit less about what people might think about you! who cares?! (she is a very good friend, and excellent on the tough love front)
when i left my job, i expected to feel powerful. after thinking about doing it for years, i had finally done the damn thing. i hadn’t waited to be laid off, or to find another job. i had prioritized my own happiness! i had chosen myself! this was power, wasn’t it?
somehow, most days, it doesn’t feel that way. i don’t mean to say i regret my decision—i don’t—but rather, that i keep waiting for that powerful feeling to arrive.
and in the meantime, as i have written about a lot over the past few weeks, i have struggled to ask for help. because it’s not in my nature. the thought of sending a mass email to my entire network telling them i’m looking for work feels akin to setting myself on fire. the thought of texting a few friends to say i am struggling and could use a little cheering up feels near impossible. i have always relied on myself to fix it—whatever it is. and perhaps more importantly, lived much of my adult life by the credo that if i don’t rely too intensely on others to help solve my problems, i won’t be a complete mess if and when those others disappear.
why yes, i am certain this feeling is a result of that time my best friends from college ousted me from the friend group. old wounds die hard.
many a friend has reached out since i left my job in february to ask how unemployed life is going. and the truth is, i have struggled to be honest with them. because while there are certainly benefits—my days are my own! i am no longer surrounded by toxicity! i am writing, lots!—there’s a lot of fear, too. a lot of uncertainty. and i don’t know how to verbalize that, nor to ask for what i really need: for them to tell me that it’s going to be okay. for them to make plans with me during the week so that i feel less alone in my aloneness. for them to check in not just once, but once a week. for them to offer (and really mean it) to put in a good word with their friends, or that person they worked with once, a million years ago. for them to ask for a link to my portfolio, and my resume, and to send out an email on my behalf.
these are the things that would make this period easier. these are the things i myself would do for a friend in a similar position happily, in a heartbeat, with true pleasure. my friends are the greatest, i would sing their praises from the rooftops! but i shudder at the idea of asking them to do this for me. even writing this out, i feel compelled to acknowledge: it is not that simple. people have their own lives, their own traumas, their own problems to contend with. they do not always have time for me.
and so begins the cycle again. i can rationalize away my own needs, i can tell myself i’m fine, i can explain away all the reasons why people haven’t necessarily shown up for me in the ways in which i have needed them to.
i can do anything but admit that i’m the problem. that i haven’t asked.
of course, there’s the voice in my brain that says i shouldn’t have to. that my friends should just know (and, credit where credit is due: some do, and have shown up in the aforementioned ways). but the problem, as my girl taylor says, is me.
i have got to learn to ask for help. or at the very least, to raise a hand when i need an assist. because i can get myself through just about anything. but that doesn’t mean i should have to.
and so, in the spirit of transparency, and asking for what we need, i did a thing: i changed my linkedin profile to show everyone—not just recruiters—that i am, indeed, open to work. and perhaps, open to change, too.
psst: if you genuinely enjoy this newsletter, will you a) tap the little heart at the bottom and b) consider sharing it on your IG stories or forwarding along to a friend?
i continue to be so humbled and grateful that you’re here. that you read, and comment, and every so often, send me a thoughtful email or leave an encouraging comment. i am a writer because i write, but a lot of what i write is this. and while i’d love to think i’d keep writing it week after week if not a single person read it, i know deep down that is patently false. i keep going because you keep showing up. so thank you, thank you!
now that i’ve bared my soul, shall we get to our 5 fun things?
trigger warning || sexual assault + violence
i loved the first two seasons of to live and die in LA, a true crime podcast hosted by journalist neil strauss. so i was thrilled to hear—via an ad on another podcast—that the folks behind the series had a new show coming out, called to die for.
‘every woman can seduce a man, and it doesn’t matter how she looks. it’s all about your skills.’
the first episode opens with this line, said by…a KGB-trained “sex spy” whose mission is to seduce powerful men for their secrets, or—as the show says ominously—even their lives. it’s called sexpionage, and apparently, it’s a thing. to say i was hooked from that opener would be an understatement. the episode goes on to detail how a young woman was convinced by her father to join the russian military, assaulted on her very first day, and then very quickly recruited to a ‘special unit’ that trained (and arguably, brainwashed) young women as spies to seduce, and sometimes, to kill.
i’ve listened to the first 3 episodes, and though parts are very difficult to listen to, the concept is undeniably fascinating. supposedly, aliia (this is, of course, not her real name) is the very first ‘trained seduction agent’ that has agreed to tell her story—though i admit there’s a tiny part of me that wonders if the entire thing is, somehow, fake. it’s all very villanelle, if you catch my drift.
anywho, if you can stomach the tough parts, it’s an interesting listen, at least so far. i will report back if i make it through all 8 eps!
somewhere mid-pandemic, i got really into podcasts. i also got really into making homemade sourdough, like everyone else, and also into making homemade bagels, because why the hell not when i had nowhere to be (i recommend this guide, if you’re curious). i was at home, alone, nearly all day, every day, but with podcasts, i didn’t feel that aloneness so acutely. prior to this, i had never considered myself an audio person. but podcasts! podcasts were like a gateway drug. they convinced me that the audio format—one i’d long written off as a means of absorbing my beloved literature—might, in fact, be for me. especially where long car trips were involved. cut to today, where i nearly always have some form of audio playing, whether from the speakers of my phone, in my airpods, or on my car stereo. this past weekend, that audio came in the form of xochitl gonzalez’s latest, anita de monte laughs last.
friends! i cannot recommend listening to this one on audio enough. the voice actors are truly astounding, and bring the characters to life in a way i don’t think my own imagination could have done if i were reading a paper or kindle copy of the book. it’s rare that i recommend an audiobook over a ‘real’ book (that’s just me, though—you do you!). but this one? this one is excellent. it felt like watching a mini-series, but one that had sound only, no picture. now, i should warn you, there is a ghost in this book. but it is not a ghost story. instead, it’s a novel that does what all great literature should do: ask why. why is some art deemed good? why are some stories, some people, some histories erased? who deserves to be remembered?
inspired by a very true story—the untimely, tragic death of a young cuban artist named ana mendieta (who, speaking of podcasts, there is a great podcast about, if you’d like to learn more)—the novel intertwines anita’s retelling of her death, which takes place in the 1980s, with the experience of raquel, a third-year art history student who’s struggling to find her place at brown in the late 90s.
go forth and listen, will you?
ps: if you’re a big reader, follow me on goodreads! i try and rank/save every book i read (and i read about 50-60 a year!)
remember how i’ve been slowly working my way through the oscar films? as it turns out, my parents have been doing the same! while i was home with them this past weekend, we tackled not one but two of the films on our list: oppenheimer and american fiction, the trailer for which is above. now, look. i liked oppenheimer. it was beautiful, and cinematic, and i learned something about our history.
but this film! THIS! FILM! it takes no prisoners. it is hilariously funny, and makes any white person watching carefully feel uncomfortable at best, and downright guilty as sin at worst. it is cord jefferson’s directorial debut, and it forces us to confront our country’s obsession with reducing people—black people, especially—to outrageous stereotypes.
editors, monk’s agent tells him, want a black book.
they have a black book, monk says. i’m black, and it’s my book.
fed up with an establishment who not just encourages, but profits from entertainment that relies on tired, offensive tropes about black people, monk sits down at his laptop, and taps out a “black” book: a satire so outlandish he can’t imagine anyone will read it.
except that they do. and they love it. tale as old as time, right? monk is propelled into the heart of the hypocrisy he claims to despise, and we, as viewers, watch as both hilarity and pain ensue. when will enough be enough? when will he give up the ghost, and tell the truth?
i know i said this last week, but american fiction is one of the best movies i’ve seen in a long time. it is intelligent, and funny, and true. i think everyone should see it, and i hope you do.
sometimes, the simplest recipes are the best ones. such is certainly the case with this recipe, from dawn perry at the NYT, which i return to again and again. briny capers and minced garlic are paired with perfectly nutty pistachios, sautéed in far too much butter to be considered healthy but certainly enough to be considered delicious. the recipe calls for spinach, but i always find cooked spinach gets a bit too slimy for my liking, and so i substitute tuscan kale. i buy the big, pre-cut bag at trader joe’s; half of it tends to do the trick.
this is the perfect meal for those cold, rainy spring nights in which you desperately want a dinner that feels like a warm hug. it’s salty and delicious, and you can tell yourself that (and it’s true!) that there’s a heck of a lot of kale packed into that bowl. never once have i not made this and
gone back for seconds. it’s just that good.
ps: just for a giggle, how about this comment? 80 thumbs up = 80 humans found this comment helpful (!) i find it hilarious. a dark day, indeed.
i’ve mentioned my love for saint olio before. it claimed a top spot in the cleaning section of my YCOHO (you can only have one) newsletter. these aromatic cleaners, which come in beautiful bottles and pull double duty as aromatherapy, making your home both cleaner and calmer. they’re made with essential oils, which means they’re both potent (the scent lingers, but still smells natural, which is important to me!), and naturally antimicrobial (which, given the level of dirt + germs i track in from new york city on a daily basis, is a biiig plus). they are my favorite thing to splurge on besides candles, and one bottle lasts me at least a month, if not longer. having shopped saint olio for years, i’ve got a bottle or two at home, so i tend to buy the cleaner concentrates, which are teeny tiny but, mixed with water, deliver two full 16oz cleaners.
every season, saint olio releases a new, limited time scent. for spring, they’ve introduced corsica: an ‘invigorating pop of mint with notes of cleansing eucalyptus and crushed herbs.’ hello, perfection. i hit order as soon as the email hit my inbox. my corsica concentrate is on its way to me, is set to arrive on monday, and i. can’t. wait. i may not be able to splurge on travel right now, but i can travel with my nose, and i intend to do so!
and that, friends, is where i leave you. if you like this post, it would mean the world to me if you’d hit the little heart icon, as well as consider sharing it with your network—so that the grand weekly can be seen by more people.
You’ve got this!
“i am a person who gives all the fucks, all the time”
Oof, I relate to this hard. On one hand I do envy people who do not have this constant burden, but on the other hand I don’t necessarily WANT to stop giving a fuck. I WANT to care about the injustices going on in the world, I want to have the most empathy for others, I want to hold myself to a high standard and continue improving. The problem is that all of these things result in me being so damn hard on myself and questioning the amount of effort I’m giving or how I’m being perceived. How can I find that balance where I care but I am giving myself more grace? I don’t feel close to figuring that out. Eldest daughter syndrome 100%!