Things have not gone according to plan.
I want you to know this. I want you to know that I had a plan, that I always have a plan, that I wasn’t just flailing around doing nothing.
I was a Girl Scout for 12 years. The Girl Scout motto is “Be Prepared” and I have always been a model scout, I assure you. I have built my life around planning, controlling, orchestrating, and getting all my ducks neatly into rows like a tiny, precise, politely quacking drill team. (I was also a dedicated marching band member for my entire high school career.)
This, my friends, was the plan:
When I quit my job out of necessity because of extreme burnout, it would not be forever. It wouldn’t be that long at all, actually. I would take a short time off, I would rest and recover, and I’d get right back out there in the workforce soon, earning my keep and being a good upstanding citizen.
Even when the plan altered a bit, and I decided to go back to school for two years to become a wellness coach and health counselor, the end goal was still the same. I would complete my coaching certifications, launch a successful business, and after a reasonable, but not-too-long period of start-up pains, I would be a successful entrepreneur who could financially support my household and give my husband (who had been supporting us for those interim years) a chance to take a break and follow his own desires.
I would swoop in and save us and make our lives amazing. Same plan, but even better.
What actually happened:
The very week that I completed year two of my training program, Justin hit the peak of his manic episode. I did not attend my online graduation ceremony because I was arranging for emergency services for Justin and fleeing to my sister’s house in the middle of a debilitating blizzard. I gave up my volunteer role of leading my classmates through ongoing group meetings in support of our new professional endeavors and put the whole idea of my coaching business on hold to tend to Justin’s immediate care.
That was five months ago, and as of now, I am still too exhausted and emotionally strung out and mentally discombobulated to even consider a business launch or trying to take on a full-time job of any kind.
This was also the plan (they are always multi-tiered, you see):
After almost three years of being a diligent YouTuber and posting multiple ASMR videos every single week, surely (reasonably, comparatively, statistically even!!!) I would be making some kind of steady income from my channel. Diligence would be rewarded and at some point, I’d have my moment in the sun with a viral video or a dramatic “discovery” by some other superstar ASMRtist, and I’d break into the big time.
All the work I put into those videos would pay off and be part of my new amazing bohemian entrepreneur lifestyle that would support my family and enable me to swoop in and save the day. (Remember the swooping? I love the swooping, the swooping is always my favorite part of the plan.)
What Actually Happened (Part Two):
After three years and 250 videos, I have just slightly over 1,000 subscribers. As of right now, I’ve made $46.07 in ad revenue which I will not even receive until I reach the initial payout threshold of $100. I have not had a breakthrough video or a big discovery or a sponsor, and I have not skyrocketed to fame like so many of the other ASMR channels launched around the same time as mine to which I have been diligently comparing myself (and which all seem to be hosted by people much younger and hipper and smoother skinned than I).
I have a small, lovely, dear following of people who leave a few nice comments on each of my videos and tell me what a helpful, soothing person I am. And I cling to those comments with all my soul and try hard not to feel embarrassed that I’ve put so much time and love into a project that by any standard metrics of social media success, has gone pretty much nowhere.
What Happens Now
For a while there, I was okay with losing sight of the plan. I was so relieved Justin was okay and not in crisis anymore that nothing else seemed to matter. But over the last few weeks, a worrisome and insidious thing has begun to happen inside me. As Justin continues to get better and I feel I can take off my name tag that says “Hello my name is: Heroic Crisis Coordinator” there is suddenly a void on my life resume.
If I’m not saving us from his episode, then who am I? What am I doing? What am I saving? Who am I swooping for?
If there’s nothing immediate to save us from, then I guess it’s back to the plan (or so my pain body/ego/the devil like to tell me).
But the plan hasn’t worked. So now what do I do?
I have to find a way to find value in myself, even if I’m not making money or “contributing” to our life in a way that society tells me is enough.
I love cooking for us. I love feeding Justin three nourishing meals each day as he rebuilds his physical and mental strength. I love tending our gardens and making herbal kitchen concoctions and taking care of our home.
In my best moments, I recognize that over the past five months, I’ve cared for Justin in deep and personal ways that can’t be quantified in dollars or measured in metrics. I stood by him through an unpredictable roller coaster of emotions, symptoms, and life changes that could have flattened us, could have torn our relationship apart.
I’ve shown my strength and my courage through trials I never could have imagined, and I’ve held our life together in a way that goes far beyond paying the bills.
I love making my simple, cozy, heartfelt relaxation videos that provide me with a creative outlet and bring calm and comfort to people, people who are real and important and matter, people who are more than numbers ticking upwards on a screen. I love slowly and steadily building a warm and supportive community where I can share frankly about mental and emotional health, while providing others with a brief respite from their daily stresses.
But that’s not enough, the voices say.
I’m not even raising kids, for heaven’s sake. I mean, that would be something, that would be a respectable purpose. But it’s just me and Justin and a dog and a cat, and I’m not bringing in a regular paycheck, and no matter how many positive affirmations I repeat or how much I pray about it and talk it through with my therapist, on many days this feels like a failure.
Over the past few months I have often fantasized about the dramatic things I could do to save us. I could get a high paying (= high stress) startup job that would save Justin from going back to work when his medical leave is over. I’ve had incredibly strong urges to sell our house and do something drastic (like move to the Caribbean, which was actually suggested to me by a therapist with whom I had one and only session before moving on).
Because Justin’s crisis seems worthy of something dramatic. If we just go back to the way things were before, with him working and me flailing about unemployed, that seems to somehow disrespect the magnitude of what we’ve been through.
I still want to swoop in and save us, dang it, I’m not letting go of that swooping! I have always been a swooper, from a long line of swoopers, and swooping dies hard, I suppose.
The voices tell me I’m lazy and that I can’t rely on other people to help us forever. That I need to be working hard and earning my keep and have something to show for myself.
No one is putting this pressure on me but me. Justin is the one person who’d have a right to tell me to get it together, but he doesn’t. He tells me not to be so hard on myself. And I AM hard on myself, it’s the only way I know. But I’m trying to learn differently.
Passing Go (Or Not)
When I was a kid, my sister and I played a lot of Monopoly, especially when one particular fun-loving aunt came to stay with us. Our games were long and epic, with many snacks and much dramatic flair, and we referred to this ritual as “moguling.” I don’t remember ever finishing a game because we were tired and ready for bed by the time we got around to mortgaging things, and we didn’t want to do the math or bother with actually shutting each other down.
But I distinctly remember the satisfaction of each lap around the board, of passing “Go” and collecting $200. That reassurance, that guarantee, that all you had to do was get around the board and there was your reward, every time, marking your progress toward success and abundance.
It’s hard for me to feel like I’m not making my way around the board anymore. That I’m not in a predictable pattern of productivity and product and contribution. I left my stressful job to get off the hamster wheel, to get out of the pointless cycle of doing, but without it, there’s a void. An emptiness that it takes a lot of courage and self reflection to fill, at least to fill with anything good.
I don’t have an answer for this. There is not a tidy ending to this essay. I’m still seeking.
Seeking a way to feel okay even when I don’t pass go, even when I don’t collect $200. Even when I don’t keep circling and circling and circling around the gameboard of life until I’ve made my fortune one way or the other.
Seeking a way to value myself for who I am, not what I do. A way to let go of the plan and let life happen in each moment, with trust and faith and love for myself. It isn’t easy.
Another Girl Scout sentiment that has stuck with me through the years is “always leave things better than you found them.” Right now, I’m trying my hardest to do that, with my own self-worth and my gradually healing heart.
I read this essay three times and found myself thinking about it all the next day. You’ve hit on something that I suspect will speak to a deep truth for a lot of people, it certainly did for me.
The Plan(s) — I’ve those, too. it’s a package that’s handed to people like us from a young age -- people who want to do the right thing, who care. Nice people. Good students. I think there's a deep philosophy under The Plan that's bit darker than it seems, that says that life isn’t just to be lived, it must be earned in accordance with your talents. You need a linkedin-in style headline under your name -- even an intense, singular hobby will do, but ideally an impressive/important job. Simply living life each day and loving the people in your life -- what a waste! So they say.
It makes me think about the language we use to talk about this aspect of life: Achievement, ambition, success. They’re all part of that worldview that requires we earn and produce according to other people's ideas of what is worthwhile and impressive. It makes it difficult to even get outside of that frame, since all the words available to us are part of that value system. If your only accomplishment in life is having one wonderful, beautiful, truly perfect love … is that enough? It seems to me that it is -- Charlotte Bronte would say so. But there's no word for that kind of accomplishment. Or maybe there is, but they still expect you to have a Big Job on top of that.
I think about this kind of thing a lot these days now that I don’t have a "career" presently.
You hit the nail on the head here, on how in difficult times it becomes clear that the business of caring is all that matters:
"I love cooking for us. I love feeding Justin three nourishing meals each day as he rebuilds his physical and mental strength. I love tending our gardens and making herbal kitchen concoctions and taking care of our home.
In my best moments, I recognize that over the past five months, I’ve cared for Justin in deep and personal ways that can’t be quantified in dollars or measured in metrics. I stood by him through an unpredictable roller coaster of emotions, symptoms, and life changes that could have flattened us, could have torn our relationship apart.
I’ve shown my strength and my courage through trials I never could have imagined, and I’ve held our life together in a way that goes far beyond paying the bills."
(It also makes me think of this wonderful essay, which I wish I wrote.) https://courtney.substack.com/p/the-art-of-care-mostly-disappears?publication_id=20922&isFreemail=true
The part about your ASMR work really touched my heart. It made me think back to a time many, many years ago when Cody and I had started a web business. It was The Plan, and it all made perfect sense. It was what we Were Destined To Do, we had the talent and drive, a good idea, and the support of family and friends.
We put time and energy and love into and it basically got ignored despite our best efforts. When we weren't finding success we pivoted to make the site free, since everything on the internet was going that way. But we just couldn’t get that fickle popularity traction, even though we worked hard at it. We started with a small amount of investor money from friends and family. Nothing on the order of an actual startup but a significant amount at that time in our lives. That was stolen, in its entirety, by an unscrupulous lawyer who padded his fees for writing some basic documents for us and then disappeared (after threatening to *double* our invoice amount if we tried to dispute the cost). It was stupid and unfair and people tended to assume we were responsible for it happening somehow (even though the lawyer came recommended from a family friend), which stung even more.
But the point is -- it failed.
I tell this story here in solidarity because I know how deeply it can hurt when The Plan falls apart.
After some years of reflection on it my thoughts are: fuck internet things.
Just kidding. Sort of. But I guess I see a lot of the bad side of the Internet (and adult life in general) as being not so different from high school popularity. It's fickle and unfair, and worse in some ways because we're told that stuff is all over once you become an adult.
And just like high school, what really matters is having a small circle of close friends with whom you form deeper relationships. As you said here:
"…I love making my simple, cozy, heartfelt relaxation videos that provide me with a creative outlet and bring calm and comfort to people, people who are real and important and matter, people who are more than numbers ticking upwards on a screen. "
This is exactly right. But still, I have to work at reminding myself of this fact because there's always that little voice that says shouldn't you just be able to be successful if you are likable and smart and try hard enough? If your writing was really good, wouldn’t your substack "take off"?
That's The Plan talking. So I have to keep reminding myself, it seems, that living life -- with all that entails -- really is enough.
Love to you, and deep appreciation for this post.