Welcome to Healing is My Special Interest, a newsletter at the intersection of late-diagnosed neurodivergence and healing from high control environments. Thank you to everyone who supports this newsletter financially, or by sharing it with friends and loved ones. Because of your support I can keep writing this, plus pay fabulous people like Jenna Dewitt1 to do book club workshops on asexuality as resistance. To get access to these live events and/or a recording, please subscribe for as little as $5/month. Today, October 31st, is the last day I am discounting my rates—and as always, if people can not afford a subscription they can contact me at dlmmcsweeneys @ gmail.com
Healing is a multi-faceted word that means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. This word can be especially fraught during a time of climate catastrophe, genocidal actions against civilians, and rising authoritarianism. As I get ready to take my kids trick or treating tonight, showing up in my actual life as it keeps moving on while I can’t stop thinking about the people in Palestine—I am feeling this tension acutely. Which is why I wanted to write just the tiniest little bit about ghosts.
My oldest child has always been a big reader. Now I know the term for it: hyperlexia. Eventually, they cooled on chapter books and became obsessed with graphic novels. In part because they love the artwork, and in part because they found much more interesting subject matters in an accessible format. Like everything that they fall in love with, they wanted to share their joy and pleasure with another person. Quite often, I am the person that they turn to—I am the receptacle of their grief, pain, and joy at the world.
A few months ago they begged me to read a specific graphic novel, called The Sad Ghost Club. And I did--even though graphic novels are pretty difficult for me to read. (I’m not sure why, I’m curious if there are others who can’t seem to absorb information that way!) It’s a beautiful little story about people with anxiety/depression finding each other out in the world. My child desperately wanted me to read it because oftentimes they feel like a sad little ghost, and they wondered if I ever felt like one too.
And the truth is, I often feel like a sad and lonely and haunted person. I felt this way constantly in childhood--as I nursed over every horrifying bit of theology or prophecy my mom told me, as I struggled to understand why some kids died of hunger while I was safe and warm and fed, as I didn’t feel like talking to people at all most of the time and preferred to stay in my head. I felt so different from everyone, removed and silent, always an observer but never a part of the swirl of play and socializing that seemed so effortless for everyone else.
I read that graphic novel at my child’s behest and I cried as two sad ghosts found each other and felt less alone in the world. I cried because I am a sad ghost. And I cried because because I gave birth to another sad ghost—
and I don’t know how
to protect them
from the pain of it.
I know. I know! There is no way to fully protect my children from the painful reality of humanity and the violence and trauma we perpetuate against each other. Instead it is my responsibility to help them realize that they aren’t alone, and there are so many other people like them out in the world: people who care, so much that it often hurts. People who want to know if and how their actions hurt others and try and change it if they can. People who worry if everyone is feeling OK or doing OK. People who are committed to being curious about themselves and the world, even if it is painful at times.
I often have to be reminded of this reality: I may feel like the only sad ghost in the world, but there are so many of us who feel haunted, out of place, out of step with a society hell-bent on rushing by as if everything is normal. Which brings us to here, and now—this newsletter community seems chock full of other haunted souls committed to healing. It is full of people who have decided to be brave enough to feel our feelings instead of pretending that everything is fine and life must and can continue on as “normal.”
So today, on October 31st 2023—a day filled with candy and costumes but also heartbreaking news pouring in from every possible corner of the world—I just wanted to say, from the bottom of my sad little heart: thank you so much. For being who you are in the world, and for letting your real self be seen and glimpsed by others. My mental health has been struggling the past few weeks2, and one thing that has really helped me is recalling how I know so many other people who are learning how to listen to our own bodies and emotions in order to end the cycles of violence and trauma we were born into. I know so many people who are in the thick of the hard, hard work of interrogating the stories we have been told about the world and told about ourselves. I know so many of us who feel drawn to healing because we ourselves have experienced so much pain. I know so many folks who are digging deep to be curious about themselves after a lifetime of ignoring or silencing pain.
And when I remember all of this, I feel so much less alone. I feel like I can get through this overwhelming and horrifying and mundane and complicated life. I feel like I can continue to try and make steps to show up in the world, instead of withdrawing from it. Shimmering with grief, anxiety, wonder, and awe. On the edges of the world, but in the company of so many beautiful, haunted souls.
If you are currently struggling with your mental health, you are most sincerely NOT ALONE. The Sad Ghost Club has a list of helplines for people in the UK and the US. For myself, I just want to affirm that having intense reactions to global tragedies is to be expected and never something to shame yourself for. In the words of writer/poet Jessica Kantrowitz (who also edits this very newsletter!): you are not alone, and this will not last forever.
I promise.
I was able to record Jenna’s amazing presentation she did on Saturday all about compulsory sexuality, so I will be sharing that with paid subscribers on Friday!
Fucking OCD, man. Just when I think I have a really good handle on it, it just creeps back into taking over my life.
I feel this so deeply, friend. Today is my 48th birthday, and I’m going to try to embrace all the joy and happiness. 💗
Because you asked: I have always been so verbally oriented that graphic novels are a challenge for me, too. I think I was an adult before I truly noticed how marvelous the illustrations in children's books can be, and how much information they contain. So with graphic novels I have to force myself to look at the pictures (side note, I actually love art on its own) which breaks up the flow state of reading for me. And it's annoying to turn the pages so often. Everybody else in my family loves graphic novels.