it's my party & i'll scream into the void if i want to

nervous wreckage is turning 3!

To write online—or anywhere at all—is to scream into the void.

Writing requires being vulnerable and putting your thoughts on to the page. It requires putting yourself out there. It requires a willingness to stay open to learning and re-learning and re-learning some more. It requires faith: that someone will care, that someone will understand, that someone will see you for you. There’s no guarantee it will reach anyone.

The beautiful thing (and the worst thing) about writing and being anxious is that there’s always something to work on—something to improve, something to get better at. And that’s what makes both so slippery to grab ahold of meaningfully sometimes. In other words: it is fraught.

Ok, but so what? You may be asking. Why are you opining about this now?

Because this newsletter is turning (3) three, and I’ve been spending a lot of time figuring out what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. I’ve also been thinking a lot about the ways in which I scream into this internet void, much like a three-year-old human toddler would.

I’ve spent three years trying to navigate writing a newsletter in order to connect with you all. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes, I throw a tantrum that no one wants to hear about. Just like a toddler.

Screaming what you want and need and dream about—it’s inherent to a kid’s survival (maybe? I’m no parent). And I have been learning to lean into that as Nervous Wreckage has grown and developed. I keep trying and practicing and learning about how to make my way, how to stand out (lol, not very successfully) and how to persevere. Because I’m a writer, and what choice do I have? The growth is the point. The screaming into the void? That’s always been the point of what I’m doing here.

I hope it has helped at least some of you feel less alone as you also scream out into this Internet void.

I’m so grateful for each and every one of you who have subscribed. Some of you may have subscribed because we know each other IRL. Some of you are virtual strangers and have found me through Substack or other means.

But the fact that you agreed to have yet another piece of writing flung into your inbox every week, and that that writing is from me of all people? Damn. I am so thankful for you and for your readership.

Thank you for being here.

Lately, the vulnerability part of writing on the internet, in this newsletter and beyond, has been especially tough on me. And I know that that desire to protect my anxious little self keeps me safe, but also makes my writing more timid, less honest. Not all the time, but sometimes.

I guess this is to say that I promise in the coming year to play in my work more and to lean into the fear and vulnerability. I also promise to put my creative work out there more, and bring you, my dearest readers, into that raw, tender new work.

I hope you’ll stick with me, but just know I’m grateful you’ve come along on this journey so far. Thanks for letting me be vulnerable in front of you.

Usually, I only allow paid subscribers to leave comments, but today in honor of NW’s birthday, I’m leaving my comment section open. I hope you’ll share something in the comment section about what NW has meant to you, or what you want to see more of in the future!

BUT: I have one more thing to ask of you today. Part of putting myself out there and being raw means asking for what I want and need. So here it goes.

Upgrading to a paid subscription helps me to set aside the time, space, and resources needed to write work I’m really, really proud to share with you guys. As of now, I balance writing this newsletter with full-time work. Paid subscriptions not only help me earn a living, but also help me to grow my platform. And from now until the end of October 2023, I’m offering a 30% discount in perpetuity for existing subscribers who upgrade to a paid subscription! Click the link here to redeem the offer (which will stay good until 10/31/2023).

And if a paid subscription isn’t an option for you right now, that’s a-ok! Trust me, I get it. But if a Nervous Wreckage newsletter has ever resonated with you, I hope you’ll consider sharing it with someone else.

I’ve listed a few of my favorites here if you need a refresher, but it is far from a comprehensive list.

Sharing a favorite of yours with even just one person really does help:

• lessons from the referee store: how to be anxious in a(n) (urban) society in "how-to with john wilson"

• “these are my boundaries:” meditating on self vs other, therapy-speak, & anxiety monsters

• who's afraid of other people's books?: on creative envy, avoidance, & weeknight tortellini

• welcoming our artificial intelligence overlords: A.I. anxiety, "M3gan," & the fear of being replaced

• against consistency: when do good habits work against us?

• the year is 2072: a letter to the kid born in 2022 on their 50th birthday

• to have and not fold: a non-exhaustive list of things stressing me out about my upcoming wedding

• how your life would(n't) have changed: a writing exercise for those who can impregnate another person

So happy birthday, Nervous Wreckage. I can’t wait to keep growing with you.