Greetings, from the Land of Flu.
Hey, friends. I’m on my third day home from my day job because, it appears, I got the flu. The specific virus has not been confirmed by a medical third party, but since I’ve had my share of colds and Covid (which this isn’t. I tested, repeatedly.) and nothing has knocked me down like this in the last decade, I think it’s safe to refer to this as “The Time Asha Got That Awful Flu.”
I’ve written in the past that the primary challenge of my integrity practice is not how to show up fully for what I would call the “big issues”— the systemic social problems that plague us and must be confronted publicly and repeatedly. I don’t have trouble being clear on what I believe about, say, racism, misogyny, police brutality, or environmental exploitation. I understand what my obligations are. I know how to take action.
What is harder is navigating my emotions and psychology daily so I’m not an asshole to the people I love.
Equally difficult I discovered this week (and central to my integrity practice), is acknowledging and transforming all the regressive, shitty internal voices that scream inside my head. Not at anyone else, mind you. At me. They scream at me.
When I am physically well and moving steadily through my daily tasks they’re mostly drowned out by the constant internal chatter related to what needs to be done— how, by what deadline, and for whom. I assume they’re always there, grumbling and sneering from the back of the room, but there’s so much clamor that’s more pressing I can’t even hear them. This week, though, when I was so sick I couldn’t stay upright or think straight they came screaming to the forefront, demanding to be heard.
What they seemed most committed to reminding me is that if I can’t do anything, if I am dependent on the care of others, then I am “useless.” If I am not of use to other people then what is the point of me? They also asserted with great confidence that this reality in which I struggle to finish simple tasks? That’s just who I am now. I’ll never accomplish anything ever again. Not that I’d ever done much anyway.
Nothing like being sick as a dog and then, on top of it, being told you’re not worth the air you can barely breathe properly.
Yesterday I managed to do a few basic things around the house— folded some laundry, washed my bedding and remade my bed, and finally took out the recycling from my bathroom— and the feeling of relief was overwhelming. Like I had finally redeemed myself. Okay! See?!? I responded, defensively. And then I thought, Wait, what? Since when do you kowtow to assholes, Asha?
This isn’t simply about not deserving rest, though that’s certainly in there. Rest isn’t something I’ve ever been good at, externally or internally. But this goes deeper than that. It’s about the nature of human value, which, according to these voices (which are my voices) is something that can only be earned through doing, producing, and accomplishing.
This is ableist, capitalist, toxic nonsense, which, by extension, implicates everyone who is chronically ill or disabled, not to mention the elderly. Which we will all be one day if we’re lucky. It is also rooted in some deep-seated stories I’ve internalized about women being put here to be of service to the people around them. Men can ramble about, pursue dreams, get into trouble, and take up space in whatever way they see fit, but women? Our job is to take care of business. Keep the wheels turning. Anything less, and we’re not holding up our end of the bargain. We don’t just get to exist. We have to earn that right.
Finally, if I dig all the way beneath even my anger at myself for carrying around these stories, I can see how they’re all about fear. Fear that there is not enough love to go around, and so I must constantly prove myself worthy, that I will never be a burden.
That loving me will never cost anyone anything because then, inevitably, someday they will not want to pay.
Does it seem overwrought, to hold myself accountable for my fevered self-flagellation? I would argue that anytime our unconscious beliefs or biases bubble up to the surface, whether it’s because we’re sick or stressed or just crossing the street on a Tuesday, it is important to unpack them. Not beat ourselves up for them or try to shame them back to the background. We are good, smart, enlightened people; we don’t carry around those kinds of beliefs. (Been there, trust me.)
Instead, confronted with our inner horrible voices, we have to ferret out where they come from culturally, but also what emotional buttons those cultural stories press on. What tender, vulnerable places insides ourselves are we protecting? How do we care for those places properly now that we see them?
Then we have to imagine how those cultural stories apply to people beyond us. If we wouldn’t say those things to someone else, why would we say them to ourselves? If we continue to say them to ourselves, what might we act out towards other people unwittingly someday?
Every injustice expresses, at its heart, a hierarchy of human value. Those hierarchies maintain themselves by flying largely under the radar, worming their way into our unconscious beliefs and perceptions. Any opportunity to bring them into the light where we can see them and ask ourselves, Is this true? How do I live a different story? is not to be missed.
Though I’ll be happy if next time I don’t have to be sick as a dog to receive the invitation. Just an envelope in the mail would be fine. An email, even. A text?
A quick check-in on our Substack Nazi problem:
Casey Newton, author of the very popular newsletter, Platformer, and one of the folks taking the lead in addressing this issue directly with Substack’s founders, worked with his team to compile a list of publications that were in violation of Substack’s stated content moderation policies. He brought that list directly to the founders and has reported that Substack will remove some publications that express support for Nazis and terminate some accounts that espouse Nazi ideology.
The company maintains that it is not rewriting its content moderation policy, but rather enforcing it more fully and introducing better tools to flag content that violates existing policy. If you’re interested, I would encourage you to read Casey’s full report on the meeting.
Is this everything that those of us who signed the original letter to the founders wanted? No. But in all my life of activism, I have never participated in a single campaign where we got everything we wanted in one fell swoop. As maddening as incrementalism may be, it’s how change happens most of the time.
The trick is not to settle or stop paying attention just because you got some of what you wanted. Just so you know, I’m not planning on going anywhere for now (as previously mentioned, I don’t kowtow to assholes. Or cede them space if I can help it.), nor do I plan on looking away like this is some sort of final victory.
In the grand scheme of the Substack ecosystem, this newsletter is a very small fish. But I’m keeping my eye on the bigger fish and will continue to report out to you all as I know more. Thank you for sticking with me here.
I’m incredibly grateful for each and every one of you.
XO, Asha
P.S. If you’ve been on the fence about becoming a paid subscriber for any reason, including Substack’s Nazi problem, I get it. But if you’re rethinking now, remember that I’m running a 30% off sale through January in honor of our 3rd anniversary.
Dear Asha, I hope you’re feeling better.
There is a passage in Sharon Salzberg’s book “Finding Your Way” I want to share with you. It’s about letting ourselves receive generosity, something I feel most of us don’t know how to.
“An action that increases the feeling of kindness and abundance in the world is generosity—whether small or large, whether you’re on the giving or receiving end. We are all vulnerable at different times and in different ways. The boundaries around the self become more porous when you are in need. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to be cared for, and you give back when you can respond with delight and gratitude. When we receive in this way, we acknowledge the other’s humanity, dignity, and goodwill. We give because we want a better world, and we do our part to make it better when we receive in that same spirit.”
"Finally, if I dig all the way beneath even my anger at myself for carrying around these stories, I can see how they’re all about fear. Fear that there is not enough love to go around, and so I must constantly prove myself worthy, that I will never be a burden". Searing writing, Asha! This gives me a flashback to my late mother's anxiety about being a burden, not wanting to be looked after. Perhaps it was produced also by fear? That makes me feel sad. How could we take that fear away?
I hope you feel better soon!