When I set out to take time off, I wanted to write the deeply personal essays that have been percolating in me for over two decades, but that I didn’t have the mental space to write because I was working. Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote Burnout, which chronicles the underpinning and unpacking of my workaholic tendencies.
As the end of sabbatical approached, I felt the urgency to write at least one more essay that’s been bouncing around my ribcage for a few years, which is B is for Body Dsymorphia, which I published on Medium a few weeks ago.
Someone asked me recently why I write such deeply personal essays (in addition to business/management writing) and why I post them publicly, so I wanted to share why.
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if rest & reflection are how I access a deeper version of myself,
writing is how I crystallize that deeper version of myself
into a format I can access again and again (if needed)
and share with others.
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I write to expunge the poison and trauma. What was once an active gas in my system is compressed, refined; from gas to liquid to solid. An inert object. Inactive.
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Why Carbon Dioxide Doesn’t Kill You.
If you remember high school biology, you’ll remember that carbon dioxide (CO2) is one of the byproducts of respiration (ie: the breakdown of glucose into usable energy).
C6H12O6 + 6O2 --> 6CO2 + 6H2O
So carbon dioxide is a necessary byproduct of life.
But if the concentration of carbon dioxide in the blood gets too high, you die. So how does your body deal with this (potentially) poisonous gas?
Here’s the mechanism: The carbon dioxide circulates within your bloodstream until it reaches the tiny alveoli in your lungs, where the high concentration of oxygen in your arterial blood diffuses across the alveolar membrane in exchange for the high concentration of carbon dioxide in the blood in your veins. (You can read more about carbon dioxide here, including this fascinating (to me) stat: Approximately 80% to 90% is dissolved in water, 5% to 10% is dissolved in the plasma, and 5% to 10% is bound to hemoglobin.)
Essentially, the body has a mechanism for eliminating carbon dioxide.
If you’re living, life generates trauma. Tiny bits of trauma, the normal wear and tear of life, that accumulate unless you intentionally address & eliminate them.
I’m not talking capital “T” trauma, like the kind that gets written about in the news, but lower case “t” trauma: small moments of hurt or disconnect that build up over the process of living life, that show up as our fears, our insecurities, our “default reactions”.
An offhand comment from a parent. An intentionally (or unintentionally) hurtful statement from a friend. A small disagreement with your partner that becomes a much bigger issue later. A freak accident. A view of yourself that doesn’t reflect how others see you.
Writing is how I make sense of; process; metabolize; eliminate the little (and sometimes big) traumas from my life.
In writing, I transmute something that’s insubstantial, ephemeral, gaseous, and within me, into something that is solid.
Crystallized. Discrete. External to me.
Words on a page.
And then, I can release it. Let it go.
Like the body metabolizing waste. Inactivated and inert.
Once I write it down, it stops occupying space in my mind.
There’s a peace I find by writing it all down.
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You may be thinking, “But then why publish it? Why does it need to be public, when it could be private?”
One of the three tenets of mindfulness is “common humanity”; this idea and belief that we all experience being human - both the highs and the lows.
Leo Tolstoy said in Anna Karenina, "All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
Similarly, while we each experience suffering in our own unique way, our suffering (and joy) are universal.
I write for the earlier version of myself that felt alone in my struggle for self-acceptance; that didn’t feel included in a common humanity; didn’t feel like the things I read and saw reflected my experience. Or hid my own truth because it felt scary, dark or uncomfortable. I write to heal the earlier versions of myself, to face the abyss within and emerge back into the daylight.
I publish my writing for other people like me, who are in that same earlier place, stumbling around in the dark. Some are Asian-American like me, many are not. Some are women like me, and many are not. Cis hetero white men struggle with the same issues, but their own version.
No matter how much success we’ve experienced (or not), we each experience self-criticism, doubt, and struggle with self-acceptance.
These are the universals I seek to name in my writing - as well as a path forward.
I write and publish for the moment when someone reads my words and says, “Yes! I can relate.” Or has more empathy for something they didn’t understand before.
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Finally, you may be wondering: But what about your career? What if your words are weaponized against you? Why show any vulnerability?
If I can’t be vulnerable, who can?
I have two Stanford degrees. I have a network of supportive, values-aligned friends, family and former co-workers, who cheer me on.
I have safety, health, and wealth and if I cannot show my humanness and vulnerability, who can?
I am human. I want to work for companies (and with people) that understand that I am human, first. That showing vulnerability is not weakness; it’s courageous. It reflects a greater strength than hiding from the dark.
I also write about things that I’ve extensively processed in therapy, as fully as one can over a decade. I wouldn’t advocate for writing about the things that are still raw; still unfolding. The things I write are like the casts you remove after a bone break. They’re remnants.
At the start of sabbatical, I wrote this about writing:
What is my goal? My goal is to share my thoughts and insights and wisdom with others, so that they may learn, feel seen or find inspiration.
What are the values underlying my goal?
Scalability - I can’t have all these conversations at once!
Hope - I believe people can change if they choose; if they see models for change.
Courage - I believe that vulnerability and courage in storytelling changes the world.
And ultimately, to be seen too. I want people to know my story.
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So, my question for you:
How do you process & metabolize the small, lower-case “t” trauma of life?
Some people choose exercise. Others create music. I write. The Buddhist traditions simply say to breathe it out. (I struggle with that.)
And as a parting gift, if you’re taking on something big, I found this helpful 6-step framework and I recommend sitting down with it for 15-20 minutes.
What is my goal?
What are the values underlying my goal?
What thoughts, feelings, sensations and urges am I willing to have in order to complete this goal?
How can I break this goal down into smaller steps?
What’s the smallest, easiest step I can begin with?
When will I take that first step?