Radio Silence
You may have noticed that it has been more than a month since the release of the last Cutting the Strings piece.
The plan that I had shared with you was to release the final piece in our Beyond Beauty series, On Isolation, in December. That didn’t happen. And as you may have deduced, this is also not that promised post.
This piece is an update on what you can expect from Cutting the Strings in the coming months. It is also a reflection on my continued healing. I've recently realised that my radio silence over the past weeks was my falling back into an old pattern of trying to insulate myself from judgment and avoiding the feelings that accompanied my self-disappointment.
My intention was to release On Isolation on New Year’s Eve. While I was mindful that many people would be otherwise occupied on the evening of the 31st, I had hoped that the final Beyond Beauty piece might counterbalance some of the “new year, new me” content with which many of us are inundated on New Year’s Day. I was hoping that, on the day that many of us contemplate new beginnings and consider building a life around our values and priorities, On Isolation might encourage us to consider the relationship that we wish to have with ourselves and the women around us. That it could be a solace from the invitations to reinvent ourselves by subscribing to the “one stone solution” and that it could help us to consider a relationship of self-care that goes deeper and delivers greater radiance and transformation than a 7-step skin care routine can offer. On Isolation, which focuses on the way that the Western standard of beauty, rooted in and reinforced by patriarchy, teaches women to see one another as competitors for limited social power, was also meant to launch a complimentary project very close to my heart.
That complimentary project isn’t ready for launch. I still have a lot of details to iron out. And, If I’m completely honest, I’m also not sure that I’m ready to engage in what will be incredibly vulnerable and humbling work. I acknowledge that I have more healing to do before I can safely invite others into what I hope that Beyond Beauty will become.
These realisations were painful for me. So I avoided them and the feelings of frustration, disappointment, and sadness that accompanied them. I also avoided writing because, in my mind, if I didn’t write On Isolation, I didn’t have to deal with the fact that this project that I had pictured coming after it wasn’t going to materialise in the timing that I had envisioned. In putting off the writing, I was really delaying identifying, facing, and processing the feelings that my perceived failure ushered in. I let them loom over me for weeks.
Even when I knew that I wouldn’t be able to meet my New Year’s Eve deadline, even once I’d decided that it wasn’t realistic, I didn’t communicate that to you. I wanted to. I knew it was the right thing to do. But I convinced myself that my not delivering what I had promised might fly under the radar. I told myself that people were focused on their own lives, their own holiday plans. That they wouldn’t remember the plan, that they wouldn’t miss my voice in their inbox. That they might simply think I had taken a break over the holidays. That that was normal and, to some degree, expected, even if not communicated. I’ll post it the following Tuesday, I told myself, believing that this would enable my readers to buy into the plan that the break was intentional. But then the following Tuesday came and went, and I was still silent. I told myself I could redeem this failure by making On Isolation even more remarkable, of such quality that it would justify the month-long gap between pieces. This compounded my stress, which forced me to finally face it. And when I did, I realised that I had fallen into an old pattern of remaining silent to save face.
I believed that if I didn’t draw attention to my failure, I would be safe from the judgment from others that I believed would accompany the failure itself. I thought that if I stayed silent and scrambled behind the scenes, I could preserve my image in my readers’ eyes. I once again fell into the trap of believing that what people want from me, that makes them appreciate what I have to say stems from my perfection. That if I admitted that I was struggling, my glow through their eyes might dim. That if they saw that I was still struggling, they would ascribe less value to my words. That readers would judge me for having created something unsustainable. I worried that my offering to readers was already so paltry that they would lose interest if I admitted that I needed to offer them even less. I was scared that I would be seen to have committed the cardinal professional sin: to overpromise and under deliver. And I thought that if I didn’t say anything, all of that might go unnoticed. I hoped that if I stayed silent, I wouldn’t have to risk being exposed to the stories that I had about how my failing to meet a deadline would impact people’s perception of me. So, I chose silence. I chose not to be vulnerable. I did the same thing that I have done time and time again: I made myself small and silent to insulate myself from judgement.
I noticed that an old pattern, one as familiar to me as the layout of my childhood home, had cropped up in a new sphere of my life. For me, relinquishing this pattern requires that I openly address my fear of judgement and communicate what I have wanted and needed to all along, but believed would come at a cost dearer than my own integrity. Today I am actively choosing to communicate what scares me: admitting that I have fallen behind. I’m also choosing to be proud of myself for noticing that in failing to communicate this earlier, I was following a learned pattern that I haven't quite cut the strings with. While I wish that it had taken me moments rather than weeks to identify that my actions were being propelled by this pattern, I’m choosing not to judge myself or feel shame for that discovery only coming weeks later, or for my only finding the words to communicate that discovery another week later. My instinct to hide by being silent simply reflects that a part of me is trying to protect me from the fear of judgment which, though it has lessened significantly over the years, is still present. I can cut the strings with this pattern by acknowledging the fear propelling that course of action and reminding that part of me that I trust that I am strong enough to face any judgment that might come and to safely feel any emotions that facing that fear might invite.
My healing journey is ongoing. I am still cutting the strings. And Cutting the Strings is still alive and well. However, I am asking for your further patience because this short interruption will persist for a few more weeks.
Here’s what you can expect moving forward:
On Isolation, the final piece in our Beyond Beauty series will be available on 18 February 2025.
We will then resume regular programming with pieces being released every other Tuesday and teasers for those pieces available on the Saturday before their release.
The next Cutting the Strings piece will be available on 4 March, and its teaser will be available on instagram (@cutting.the.strings.co) on 1 March.
I can’t guarantee that these kinds of interruptions won’t happen again. When I took on this project, I committed to undertaking it in a way that is consistent with the ethos of Cutting the Strings. I write to share, not to prove my worth. I prioritise writing, but don’t sacrifice my family and well-being to produce. Thank you for understanding that. What I can promise is that I will have the courage to communicate these interruptions with you in advance if and when they occur. I will choose trust over fear. I will choose, like I finally did today, connection over radio silence.
