This piece was inspired by and her recommendation to watch You Hurt My Feelings, starring Julia Louis-Dreyfus. The film explores little white lies and our need to be validated.
When I was in grade 12 I watched my principal rise up from his seat during school assembly, gripping the first issue of my underground newspaper in his hand.
My body flushed with adrenaline and fear.
He shook the issue over his head like a seagull, ”If you know who wrote this or, if you yourself contributed to its production and distribution I expect you to come forward immediately.”
Grim waves of nausea surfed my stomach.
“I am seriously concerned that students at this school would be so disrespectful to our staff and our way of life.”
Our inaugural, and only newspaper issue, contained teen poetry, an essay on why school uniforms were a form of punishment, an opinion piece by Dr. Death on the misinformation in school and my piece on my conflicted desire to escape and also stay forever in grade 12.
The movie, Pump Up The Volume, had been released that year. Inspired by Christian Slater’s underground radio station we created our own newspaper. When the copy and illustrations were gathered we used Jeff’s dad’s work photocopier to print the issue and then Nikki stapled them together into a small booklet. Our 12 page issue featured cover art of a middle finger. It was privileged teenage angst bound up in A4 and left on the cafeteria tables at 7:20 in the morning when school was empty.
I dragged myself through school after that assembly avoiding my co-conspirators, when Miss Moran, my English teacher said, “I know you wrote that essay on the back page. It’s got your voice all over it,” then she winked, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
I have a voice?
I have a voice!
That’s the moment I decided to become a writer.
And that’s also the moment Validation boarded this writing locomotive and we began our beguiling relationship.
My British father threatened to pull his financial contribution to tuition when I proclaimed my desire to be a Creative Writer. There were pillow thrashings and floor stompings and squeaked out tears of grief.
Eventually I decided that being a journalist would be fine. I would still be writing, but responsibly. I would still be sharing stories, but getting paid. It would be totally great, I would be totally great and everything would be totally great!
At the end of year 2 I met with my journalism co-op professor. The difficult and challenging conversation we had in his stuffy creative arts building room, led to my admission that I hated journalism and wanted to shift to the creative writing stream.
I wrote again freely. I wrote for me. I wasn’t looking for any kind of validation because frankly I wasn’t going to make a living at this, so I may as well just enjoy it. I took poetry and fiction workshops with Lorna Crozier and Patrick Lane. I dropped off 12 copies of my pieces in our class pigeonhole and picked up 12 fresh papers in return for editing and insights.
My writing was good, but not memorable.
My writing was creative, but not inspiring.
I was writing, but not validated.
I fell into a technology job after University and funnelled my writing into calls-to-action and marketing quips. I got immediate validation with hard metrics! 46% open rate on that newsletter - Yes, YOU are killing it my friend. What a writer you are. Validation and I hugged. I’d found my best writing. I was good.
My journaling dropped off. My essay writing stopped. My writing for me, ended.
Then I had a life in New Zealand and LA, a daughter and founded two technology startups with my husband. And at 46 after experiencing another deep depression that had me wondering why I even gave birth to another human, I had the brain tickle to start “writing”. A dear friend cornered me at his 49th birthday party, pint of beer in hand and blatantly asked me “Why the hell aren’t you writing?” My always dependable, “I don’t have enough life experience to write what I know” couldn’t be used as my justification.
So here I am writing and trying to throw Validation from the train. I’m so used to tying my writing to something: an open rate, a linkback, an inquiry from a journalist. And with each Substack notification or comment I feel Validation smirking while he puts more coal in the engine’s belly. He whispers, you know you can’t write without me.
I feel untethered trying to reach that 16 year old writer who created that underground newsletter. So I’m dropping my need for metrics. And instead I’m going to write for connection.
I’m going to Desperately Seek Bonds.
Tell me fellow creatives, how do you get past your need for validation?
Very nice and relatable. You made your point through personal story really well. "He whispers, you know you can’t write without me." -- very relatable.
I always wondered how artists like Van Gogh kept going without any validation or I'm sure the thousands of others that kept going and have never reached fame for their work.
SO relatable Annabel. Loved it. Thank you for writing & sharing :)