On losing and regaining your self-esteem

A story about not giving up on you when faced with criticism that paralyzes you :: Originally published on september 18th 2022

This year I had an experience in which I was told I overshare on social media and that it makes some people feel uncomfortable. I was told that many people would see my way of sharing and connecting as a red flag. Additionally, I was told that I could take my business to the next level and be more professional if I did not share the way I did. I could be seen as more grown up if I did this too. I was also told that I should consider having more boundaries for the sake of my clients and their wellbeing - that it would be better if I didn’t share any personal information about my life or share my inner landscape so that I could remain an objective and impartial figure for them.

Honestly, my first reaction was, what do I even share that is that scandalous? What do I share that puts my clients at risk? How am I not professional?

I consider myself incredibly professional, an imperfect human for sure, but a very caring, competent, and ethical practitioner, and I share things that help others feel like they are not alone, or so that they can say me too.

Then after I pondered that, something more scary happened in my thought process; it became… wait is everyone (or many people) looking down on me? Or are people making fun of me for the way I show up, write and connect? Is everyone laughing at me and I don’t even know it?

This unsolicited feedback was very disorienting for me because if we are in reality, I created and maintained a full time time business for the past (nearly) 9 years because of the way I write and share. I was not seeking or in need of business advice - if anything, my work has always been the strongest point of my life. I never went through the growing pains of not knowing what to do with my life or not having a specific passion or cause I wanted to dedicate my life to.

I made six-figures for the first time when I was 21. I literally escaped abuse, and gave myself a real shot at recovery from drugs, alcohol, toxic households, etc because I was able to provide for myself due to my business working and consequently simultaneously accommodating my neurodivergent needs. I’ve worked very hard over the years and enjoyed it completely. I have done well over 5000 sessions with clients, I have run 3 nervous system health group programs with stellar curriculum that has 82 graduates, I’ve run private and group retreats and artist residencies where I have cared for people from feeding them to figuring out their biggest blocks with them (which has led to books, businesses, families, and projects that have changed the world in their own right), I have hosted dozens of classes, and given away scholarships, sliding scale opportunities and ran a community fund whenever I have been able to. There’s also all the investment - intellectually, financially, physically and emotionally - in the training I have done. I am not even factoring in all my skillset and my time that I applied on Anxiety Free Community (AFC) - a movement and organization I facilitated that gained significant attention throughout Toronto and Canada as a whole from 2014-2016.

And why did it work? My writing. My marketing. The way I did things in a unique way. Connection that inspired conversion. In my opinion at the present time, and who knows if this is true because I have no real way of knowing what I would have done if my business didn’t work, I am alive because of the way I share and connect.

It’s kind of like in my memoir when I say, I am not alive despite my autism. I am alive because of my autism.

It really affected me - this experience of being told I was inappropriate and at risk of being judged for it and that it would be in my best interest to privatize my content, or avoid being seen by certain groups of people to not lose credibility or be seen as less than. I wish it hadn’t, but it did.

This was also very bad timing to have a crisis around how I was being perceived and incessantly questioning if I had been left out of the joke this whole time or not. My book was about to come out in a few months. A book that was the most raw, vulnerable thing I had ever seen myself. And it was about my life. It was about my trauma. It was about my recovery. Anyone could weaponize all my most tender and proud moments.

I started seeing myself through this violent critical eye, which I was not accustomed to. I am generally quite lucky around confidence - my autism allows me to not care too much about social hierarchies and constructs and my mom taught me to consider everyone in the room before I speak, enabling me to have confidence but also be humble and considerate. I’ve always felt a good sense of healthy confidence, never really thinking what I had to say was useless, while also maintaining that I have never thought myself to be superior to anyone so I learnt to truly listen too. But now… everything I felt like saying suddenly felt dumb, or too much, or irrelevant. The things I felt were cool felt really lame to chat about. The memes I laughed at felt immature. The art I had hung up on my wall felt not prestigious enough, as if my taste in things were inferior.

Some moments this past winter were some of my darkest. I haven’t had any suicidal ideation in years since I withdrew off pharmas, but it came back. There was even one morning in the winter, where I uttered, and was deeply serious, that I wanted to go back on seroquel (an antipsychotic that helped me sleep back in the day.) Later, I reflected on this moment and realized just how bad I was feeling mentally to consider that seriously. How not myself I had become was clear. I was tired. I was defeated. I fell into a deep depression like I had not lived for a long long while. I felt so worthless. I even sometimes felt like my life had no meaning - that whatever I had contributed to the world was pointless and needless and anything I would attempt to contribute again would be the same - unnecessary and even embarrassing. I spent many mornings awake from 2 am to 5 am. I woke and sometimes paused at the mirror and wondered, where have you gone Emily Beatrix? to myself when I looked into my eyes.

There came a point where I had to choose. Do I let this ruin me and stay down here, or do I rise from this destruction?

I decided to rise. I decided I would publish the book in the summer, and that I would not be scared. Or if I was scared, I would just stay with it and keep breathing. I would not abandon my voice, my art, my way of being that has helped me.

If people did not like me, so be it. I don’t like plenty of people too.

If people thought I was an overshare-r and that was a red flag, so be it. I personally don’t find that I share in a way that is uncomfortable or cringey at all. I only pick things to share that are processed for me (writing from the scar and not the wound); and that are helpful for others to resonate to. I care a lot about ethical storytelling and I understand the responsibility you have as a writer. Yes, my writing can be confrontational (or urm, direct), and so real it makes you feel things you haven’t felt that you need to feel to integrate your life well; CYTTLO has been said to be a portal to healing. But in general, I feel myself actually pretty generous, well-tempered, nuanced and wise in my writing. And I think it’s cool that you can feel my heart in my writing. When I can’t feel someone’s heart, I feel unsafe with them. I want people to feel safe with me. And besides, we all get to decide what makes us feel cozy and what makes us feel repulsed. I really don’t want people who feel repulsed by me to be around me for their sake more than mine anyway, gosh, that would feel so un-consensual.

If people thought my way of showing up on insta stories, occasionally pictured in a towel, showcasing my sense of humor through fun adventures, or singing in my car with my friends was unprofessional, or sharing a subjective opinion on my experience that includes feelings, then they would think that. There are also plenty of people who have messaged me over the past decade saying that I gave them permission to be happy or to be themselves, so different opinions for the same thing is normal. Shout out to Jackie who recently told me I make her feel more than anyone else, she swears. We are all coming from different backgrounds and beliefs and we are all still affected by systems of oppression differently. We can unconsciously uphold white supremacy/ patriarchy for example by not allowing ourselves or others to feel joy or sorrow publicly.

If people thought I was immature or not grown up or that my brand could do better or get to the next level, then so be it. I like the way my business/ brand is. I have no interest in being famous (IRL or on socials). Never have and never will. And no shade if that’s what you want - I respect and love that, it’s just not for me. I don’t want to go to the “next level” - I want to tend to my garden and go to my daily swims in the lake. I want to make my art and have enough to eat and take care of myself and my people. If that organically leads me to the “next level”, cool. If not, okay too.

If people thought sharing your inner landscape (in writing mind you, not actually in session) is inappropriate as a practitioner, then that’s okay. There are a ton of practitioners who share and show up differently in their marketing and many choose to not be writers publicly. That’s not my case because there is no easier route to feeling unhappy for me than to not write & not share that writing (I love the connection writing brings, I am filled with longing for a fulfilment I can’t quite quench otherwise without this connection). Plus, I have been sold out for years in terms of 1:1 support because people have felt so seen by me through my public writing and have asked to work with me to be seen and held some more. I have a waitlist because I cannot keep up with the demand of my 1:1 time.

If people thought I did not have enough credentials, and thought I should go back to school for a masters or something interpreted as more legit, then okay, they could think that. I like the way I practice not as a therapist. Traditional schooling has been some of the most traumatic spaces and times of my life, and typically these institutions have poor accommodations for autistics and quite frankly, I find myself bored and other’ed in more traditional academia settings. If that ever changes, I will change my mind. But for now, this is why I have invested six-figures into my education in settings that worked for me and met my needs around special interest topics. Importantly, I am always upfront in all my classes and client contracts that I do not conduct therapy as I am not a licensed psychotherapist. I am happy like this. If someone wants not my services, they can go get not my services.

If people made fun of me, then they did and they would, and I’d survive it. I could have been dead a while ago and I am still alive and that is a miracle, so fuck off if you want/ need to make fun of how I stay/ stayed alive - I don’t want to be around you.

So, on July 8th, I published my first memoir, and my second book to the world. I made more money being a writer this spring/ summer between this newsletter and my book than I ever have. This is following a winter where I was cruelly tested and somehow I turned toward even more commitment toward my writing and my work, and it worked out.

This is what I have seen happen so many times with myself and with my clients when we recommit to our souls, especially when it feels impossible or silly. We get massive reward.

Up until now, writing has been my way to sell my other offerings, but I shied away from actually making significant money from it on its own. I decided to rise here too. My writing is not just a bridge to my work anymore, it is also part of my work. It is not a side gig or side hustle. It is part of the glorious body of work that I call my devotional mission in this life time.

I write this story obviously so that is lays to rest outside of me. It was very painful for me to lose my self-esteem, and it’s been a very delicate recovery process that included standing firm in my resolve to publish my book, to keep showing up, to keep challenging myself to move forward and not feel like my existence or my voice was inappropriate, embarrassing, immature, not professional, not valuable over and over again.

I have slowly shed the hyper-vigilance through deliberate practice. Instead of getting smaller, I lovingly held my own hand as I took up more space. I posted the meme I told myself was immature before. I wrote the thing that felt dumb or overindulgent or irrelevant. I started gushing about the things I thought were cool - like lesbian art history or mushrooms again. I began to appreciate my art that I love - made by friends, people I admire- and my furniture again.

Instead of shrinking, I got more bold. I purposefully have been writing this newsletter in one straight shot for one hour and then sending it without rereading it or editing it for over four months now. I know, wild stuff. I know there are typos and sentence structure or expressions could be way better, and yet, I am still sending it in a raw form. And by doing that, I give myself the experience that I am appreciated and valued even if I am not perfect. People are still sending me gorgeous replies and/ or paying me. Cool.

Every day I am filling myself up with positive regard to heal all the parts of me that are still lingering with feelings of not being enough or good enough for the neurotypical and general society that we were born in. So yes, I share this story for me…

But I also share this story for you.

I hope you never stop being yourself. And if you ever do, because we all do sometimes, I hope you come right back home.