the free, not radical manifesto involves not getting caught in a world wide web

If you’ve been here a while, you’ve likely noticed a dramatic decrease in posts over the last two years. There are many reasons for this. Part of it is due to the natural ebb and flow of life (I had a baby, I was too busy with other projects, etc), part of it was due to a little bit of humility (do I really have the hubris to preach while I am still learning?), and part of it—perhaps the majority—was an emerging fear of the permanency of the written word.

There has been a great deal of emphasis over the past few years on digging up words that people have written and using them to prove their inadequacies. As a witness to this, I would be lying if I said I hadn’t also passed judgment onto those who have expressed cringe-worthy sentiments online. As someone who cares about the process of healing, I understand the power that words carry. In the same breath—as someone who cares about the process of healing—I don’t believe in the permanency of thought. I believe a person’s beliefs, feelings, and opinions can (and often do) change naturally over time. And so I try to tread lightly when analyzing someone’s past.

This is a difficult thing to do, though, when reading something that has been published in print. Unlike a video, where there are visual cues of a bygone era, print feels like present-day. It’s hard to separate a person’s untoward thoughts from where they might be now.

And look, I’m not saying that we shouldn’t hold people accountable for their words. I’m just drawing attention to the fact that it’s easier to presume no growth has occurred than it is to accept that a person has grown from the time you read something they wrote to the moment they address it. And when we launch into accusation without leaving room for the possibility that this person is still ‘good’ inside, it’s not very helpful for anyone.

I’m also not suggesting that I think I would be cancelled for something that I’ve written on this blog. My fear is a little more abstract than that.

I have been afraid, I think, that I’ll be trapped in a perception of ‘the before times.’

I started the blog at Free, Not Radical because I wanted to share the lessons I was gleaning in my own journey of betterment. There are times when I wanted to write from a position of ‘I have already learned the lesson,’ and there are times when I wanted to write from a position of ‘I am in the middle of the lesson’ and there are times when I wanted to write from a position of ‘I just figured out I need to learn this lesson.’ I found, though, that I tended to only feel comfortable writing after I’d already learned something. As though I was teaching it back, rehashing a success story. This has always felt slightly inauthentic to me, not because I don’t learn lessons or have the capacity to teach it back, but because it’s only one side. I am always in the middle of something. I am always just beginning again. And I am always ‘mastering’ what I’ve already learned.

I wanted to create this blog to share the vulnerable side of what it looks and feels like to be IN something. As motivation, as encouragement, as proof that it’s possible and doable and not all bad. But my fear is that when I print it, when I publish it to the web, I will forever live in that state of ‘being in it.’ It’s so much easier to present myself as being done, being accomplished, being through. To be vulnerable and then to publish that vulnerability and then to grow out of that and look back on it as it was in-process is terrifying. Will people always see me as being in it? Can they read it and accept that I may have made it to the other side? Even as I write this, I recognize that these are my questions today and I might have the answers tomorrow. Am I strong enough to live with the fact that someone might read this and think I haven’t answered them?

It makes sense why we see so many gurus online claiming enlightenment and promising the same to their followers. It’s crisp, it’s clean, it’s linear. It’s perfectionist. I’m personally tired of it. Those gurus are still human. They stub their toes, they deal with grief, they get angry sometimes. But they’ll never let us see it when they’re IN it because then that’s who they are, right?

So what is our responsibility online? Are we all just trying to put our best foot forward and hope that’s how people remember us? Are we—as some marketing experts suggest—just embodying a chosen archetype online for financial gain? Leaving the rest behind closed doors? And is that ethical? Not that you can’t keep things private, but are we allowed to be fully ourselves without penalty? Where is the line?

Maybe I’ll have these questions answered tomorrow. All I know is that I want to embrace the messy bits as moments to celebrate. I want all of it to be applauded and seen.

Here’s the manifesto part

What do I want people to glean from this space? First and foremost, it’s to express that individual freedom comes from within. (Yes, circumstance matters and we are not all on an even playing field, but our inner resolve fuels our perseverance, resilience, and ultimately our reality by way of our perspective and choices). Second, it’s that we throw away the notion that self-care is a radical act and instead reclaim it as a critical part of our day, like sleeping and eating. Third, it’s that the path toward individual freedom can be subtle and gentle. It does not have to be harsh. This is not to say it is easy. Kindness and compassion, when it hasn’t been a practice, can be ironically painful at first. There is often grief when letting even the worst parts of your past go. But the path to freedom doesn’t have to be a deep-dive into darkness. Lastly, it’s that growth is not linear. It is not a crisp, clear line. Perfection is not the path. You are allowed to be human and you are given permission to be messy when you are making the choice to grow. It is all exactly right. It all deserves celebration.

present me commits to showing the mess and Future me commits to accepting it

I have already written things in this space that feel cringeworthy to me. Things that I’ve grown out of and away from. It’s small, it’s subjective, but it’s real. I can see how the me writing five years ago seemed young and naive. The me writing today is growing, too, and I’m sure I’ll look back in five years and grimace a little. That’s the thing about growth, it keeps going.

And the thing about print is: it stays frozen.

I have to embrace the discomfort of that if I want this blog to become what I want it to become, which is a space where cringe moments are allowed. A space where the mess of growth is embraced and granted compassion. A space that shows healing, or wellness, or betterment (whatever you want to call it) in all of its muddled layers.

Here’s to showing up with a little more roughness around the edges. And to encouraging you to embrace your rough edges, too.