It’s been a tough couple of days. I’m going to whine in this post, so feel free to move right along if empathy isn’t your bag right now, baby.
If you do keep reading, please know I recognize there are bigger issues in the world than what I’m dealing with and far harder challenges to be faced. But this is where I’m at right now and writing through things – in the hopes that someone out there might read and be able to relate – has always been therapeutic for me. It’s why I’ve had a blog for almost 14 years.
Ready? Have a cup of tea? Maybe some cake? Okay. Here we go.
Last night, I paused a show in the middle of an action scene, turned to my wife and said, “You know what? I’ve never had more people around me, and yet I’ve never felt more alone in my life.”
I started crying. “I’m sorry,” I said, as she wrapped her arms around me. “It’s so stupid. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I know, honey. It’s going to be okay.”
Some really big things have happened in my life that are absolutely wonderful. I wrote a book that became an instant bestseller. It was longlisted for a coveted Canadian award (but did not make the shortlist – which is understandable, because there were some damn good books on that list.) I was named a Chatelaine 2019 Woman of the Year and in a few days, I’m going a luncheon in Toronto to be honoured as a Top 25 Woman of Influence of 2020. I’ve given more interviews and keynote addresses than I can count, and my calendar is so busy I’ve had to start running it by someone to make sure I don’t forget anything important. I have mostly positive interactions with a global audience of thousands every day.
This former young mom and high school dropout who struggled with addiction and still struggles with mental illness is now, I suppose, kind of a success story. The underdog made it. I’ve worked extremely hard to put a message of love and acceptance out into the world, and for what I believe are good reasons: To help other people, to save lives, to make sure my children grow up in a safer and more accepting world.
Despite all of this, I feel more isolated than ever.
It’s not that I don’t have people in my life. I do. I have a great support system. I’m just not using it.
The things I’m struggling with are hard to share with others. I’m worried they won’t understand – they won’t be able to relate. I’m worried they might judge me for being at the height of my career and still being unhappy sometimes. What’s there to be unhappy about, Amanda? Look at what you’ve done!
I sometimes think about what I would say if I did open up. Where would I start? How do you bring people into a situation you never saw coming and feel woefully unprepared for?
Do I start with the mounting pressure to be perfect, because if I say one wrong thing – or even one thing that could be misinterpreted – I’ll get hundreds or thousands of angry comments about it? (And sometimes memes calling for my death? Yeah, that happened.)
Do I tell them about the websites that steal photos of me in my bathing suit and call me a “fat pig”? Or the transphobic “book reviews” that are actually just hit pieces on my family?
Do I tell them about the accusations that constantly fly around that are completely unfounded, like how I’m just trying to “make money off the backs of [my] family members”? Or that I’m a narcissist who’s only in it for fame? Or how I have Munchausen by Proxy and am “making my child trans” for attention? Or that I’m not actually queer, I just have a really controlling spouse and I’m scared to leave? Or that she writes my tweets? Or I’m the one writing hers? That I’m making ridiculous amounts of money in… advocacy? (I can’t write that one without laughing. We would be homeless without my wife’s job.)
And it’s not just from outside the LGBTQ community. Sometimes it comes from within, too. I should just shut up. I shouldn’t have written the book. I don’t deserve any of the accolades. I don’t have the right to talk about my family. I’m an opportunist. I’m a mediocre writer who profited off her trans child and spouse so she could get famous.
I see it, I hear it, and it hurts.
How do you explain all of this to someone and have them understand, when you don’t even understand it yourself? That’s where the lonely feeling comes in. And that’s why I’ve been isolating myself more and more.
Today I woke up and didn’t want to get out of bed. I was exhausted from the crying and the anxiety I dealt with yesterday. But I made myself get up and go have breakfast with my wife and some friends. When we left the restaurant, the idea of going back home and crawling into bed beckoned. But I knew if I did it, I wouldn’t get back up again for hours. That I would be stuck in a dark mind with dark thoughts.
“Take me on an adventure,” I asked. “Let’s drive. I don’t care where we go. I just need to get out of my head.”
She took me to a little town outside of Ottawa. We went for coffee, looked at clothes, bought some locally made bubble bath and well over a pound of fudge. It was nice. It was needed. My mind and body, vulnerable and worn, both picked up a little.
I, of course, took pictures of the fudge before eating any of it.
“You know,” she said to me, as we were driving home on this unseasonably warm winter day. “You don’t have to do this work, babe. You’ve done a lot already. You can stop anytime.”
“I know,” I said. I think about it every time things get hard. I could just delete all my social media and walk away. I could choose to write fiction, or magazine articles on organization and the latest footwear trends. I could start a dog rescue or become a gardener. I could paint – I love to paint.
“But here’s the thing,” I said to my wife as we drove by snowy fields. “I hate how lonely it feels sometimes, but I love what I do. And I want to believe that it matters.”
When I got home, there were a bunch of new emails waiting for me from around the world. Some just thanking me for being there, either online or in the book they just finished reading. And some sharing personal struggles with coming out as queer or supporting a loved one who is. Whenever I reply to those, I tell the sender to just hold on, because it’s going to be okay. Even when it seems impossibly hard, it’s going to be okay.
That, I realized today, in this period of growth and change I’m experiencing, is advice I need to give myself. It’s going to be okay.
I’ve long since accepted I’m not going to make everyone happy, and that some people are going to think the worst of me, no matter what I do. But that doesn’t mean my heart won’t break – it just means I know it’s coming, and I have the tools ready to put it back together. That’s the gift of all of this. It’s building my resilience. It’s making me stronger – and that’s important in the work I do.
But even strong people need their people. So, I also decided today, it’s time I stop isolating and start reconnecting, to open up again.
I need to start celebrating my own successes. I want to feel the excitement. I haven’t been letting myself get happy about these big accomplishments – the ones that far exceed any dreams or expectations I’ve had of myself – because I know that somewhere out there, there are people who resent those accomplishments. How unfair of me to rob myself of that. I won’t do it any longer.
It’s time for me to shine again. I deserve this joy. I deserve happiness. And I don’t need to feel alone, because there are plenty of people who might not fully understand what I’m going through, but are waiting with tape and glitter glue and hugs, ready to help heal a broken heart.