I have been tinkering lately with my email away message, trying to find the language to say, simply, that I am taking a break. That I need to untether from my inbox this summer. That I don’t want to be remembered for my swift email responses. Some mothers have taken up the vacation responder as a political act— a way of noting, for example, the lacuna of childcare in summer months and beyond. And I am always delighted by
’s auto-replies, which year round greet anyone who writes with a note about how she accepts the necessity of virtual communication, but cannot live by its constant rhythm, and will take her time getting back to you.Lately, my inbox has become unmanageable, and I’ve been through several cycles of grief around it, from appreciation that anyone is contacting me at all, to frustration around the kind of emotional labor women are expected to do online, to acceptance that I will simply forget to respond to people sometimes, or not have the capacity to respond at all, and people will think what they need to think about that. This also rings true. The issue is cultural and political, but the out (or at least a partial out) can be internal. We can refuse to throw ourselves on the pyre of this aspect of work at all times, and by doing so, it opens up the possibility of others doing the same.
I am trying to get better at respecting my own time, in other words, taking it wherever I can get it, and filling it, whenever possible, with what I want to fill it with, while acknowledging the limitations of my own control over an economy that doesn’t want that for me, or most of us. And so, in that spirit, I will be taking a brief creative leave from this newsletter in July. It’s a small thing I can do, and I hope it encourages others to do the same.
I have been publishing here nonstop since my book launched back in September, and I have found it pretty creatively draining recently. I love connecting with this community regularly— in fact, that’s why I’ve kept it up. Because I love this community. There are over 10k followers of this newsletter now, which is wild to me. And our new Writing Group has been extra amazing. I’m so excited to continue working with this dedicated group of writers, and I value every single reader here, paid or not.
But/and my youngest kid says I work too much (not wrong), and I have some life to attend to. Teaching, along with writing here, has also been preventing me from spending as much time on my next book as I’d like over the past few months. I am not someone who can work meaningfully on a book while writing several meaningful weekly essays. Something is bound to suffer, and I don’t want that for the writing I do here, or for my other projects. And when I write a book, it’s pretty all-consuming. On top of all this, the world is impossible, painful. So, I am forcing myself to turn away from the writing I do here (and from social media) for a few weeks to focus on all these other things.
But wait, you say, didn’t you just teach a class on “embracing interruption”? Why yes, I did. Because only a privileged few have a creative life that is free of the constant distractions caused by homes, bodies, children, friends, politics, news, the work we must do for pay— in short, life. The image of the undisturbed genius is a false one that creates so many undue pressures and expectations for writers and artists. At the same time, we cannot expect ourselves to have no limits on what we can handle as people, and I am working on identifying where I have agency over my creative and professional life, and where I do not.
And, I can assure you, my July will be filled with interruptions (and some work I must do for pay). Some of those distractions will be of the kind I crave right now: I will be swimming in the community pool with my kids, reading a lot, and exploring what I want at this stage of my life, as I enter my 39th year. I may spend some of July doing newsletter planning and drafting, but I refuse the idea that writers should perform productivity just to have time “off,” so I will be trying in earnest to delay as much of that work as possible until I return in August.
I hope my break encourages you to do the same—to make some space for yourself, whatever that means for you, however you can. To read more. To sit in the sun. To take in the grief of the world. To cry. To sleep. To watch TV. To participate in whatever meaningful activism you have made your thing or would like to try. To mourn the loss of whatever private thing you might be losing or letting go of. To attend to some childhood hurt. To feel the impossible joy that still exists. To think about what you want. To write something long and deep or make a mess or start something new or figure something out.
If there is anything I have learned over the past few years of clawing my way back to my work and self after feeling so distant from both in new motherhood, it’s that living a life that feels more consensual is possible, even when it feels like old white guys in cult robes are pulling the strings of our lives (which, they are).
We often have more agency than we think in our daily lives. We can take a break. We can rest. We can write something meaningful. We can find the time. We can refuse the thing or walk away from it. It takes resolve and effort to live a life that feels like it’s one you have consented to, and some things may not be possible, while others are.
It’s always a privilege to express choice in one’s life. And I’m not talking about grabbing your bootsraps. I’m talking about taking a deep breath. Agency is not something we have or don’t have, nor is it a finite resource that we need to view with a scarcity mentality. The degree to which we have access to choice and agency is always going to depend on race, class, gender, and so on; it’s always evolving. Sometimes, it’s very low, seems so remote. For others, it may be so accessible it’s hard to understand what it’s like for other people to feel like they have none at all.
But with respect to the complications of living a creative life, I often think about what Toni Morrison told her students:
I just tell them: You have to do this, I don’t want to hear whining about how it’s so difficult. Oh, I don’t tolerate any of that because most of the people who’ve ever written are under enormous duress, myself being one them. So whining about how they can’t get it is ridiculous.
A thank you to paid subscribers
Throughout July, I will keep paid subscriptions on. This is a planned break, after all, and I think it’s impossible for any writer publishing on this platform to do so on their own in a meaningful way year round. I want to more clearly demonstrate this belief. So, moving forward, I’ll be taking breaks two months out of the year, in July and January.
Whenever I write a post in which I explicitly state that it’s not possible for me to do it all, I lose a few paid subscribers, which I think says a lot about how we still expect women to do it all. So, perhaps that will happen this time. But I rarely lose as many as I expect, and that, I think, says even more about the community we’ve built here, which clearly understands the patriarchal capitalist economy in which we are all moving. I’m so utterly grateful for that/you.
Subscribe to Mad Woman today
In August, when I return, the monthly and yearly price of this newsletter will increase for new subscribers from $50/year and $5/month to $70/year and $7/month. Writing Group subscriptions will now be $199. If you are already a paid subscriber, nothing will change. If you’ve been meaning to subscribe, you can do so now at the old price of $50/year or $5/month. Current subscribers and anyone who subscribes before July 31 will be grandmothered into the old rates, so it’s a great time to upgrade.
I have never, ever raised the rate of my subscriptions, not since I started this newsletter, not even as the economy and inflation have gone bonkers, not even when I have struggled financially, as I continue to do.
A reminder, too, that most of the essays and interviews I publish here are free to increase accessibility. And for those who really cannot afford the monthly or yearly cost but really want to be part of the paid subscriber community, I always comp subscriptions, no questions asked.
But this is not a hobby for me. It’s my livelihood. I used to kind of beat around the bush about this. I don’t like this side of the work at all. But it’s just me here. And I teach every year to the edge of burnout to keep myself afloat. I know many people have mixed feelings about women making money, even just enough to support themselves. And, I know you are not those people.
Supporting this newsletter means you support everything else I do, so thank you for making it all possible.
This is my invitation to you as well, to try to make some space in your life, whether that be for writing, reading, creativity, activism, rest, connection, friendship, pleasure, pause, movement, big life decisions, whatever you want and need and feel is missing attention in your life—and whether that’s in July, one week this summer, one day soon, or every day for the rest of your life. If you want to share a goal or affirmation to this end, please do so below, and let’s keep the comments supportive and not get judgemental about people trying live their lives.
Yes! This! I always celebrate when I can separate the fake expectations of our hustle culture from what I really want and need to do. I’ve been blocking whole days and weeks this summer and also putting a hold on my calendar for reading and writing and being. I hope that your break is all that you need it to be.
I think a break is entirely valid! And I am working on my own perspective on taking breaks for myself! And I still noticed some bristling to this message - showing me how I still have work to do on breaking down these instilled ideas. You deserve to take a break. And it's obvious to me that those who choose to unfollow after reading this today, also have their own work to do around releasing themselves from the productivity culture we have for women. It's wild - I just imagined one of the males that I follow (on YouTube) and if he said he needed a break, I truly don't think I would bristle - I'd think he was wise /great /more respected for making that choice. How effed up is that?! And I've been working on these issues in myself for YEARS! These misogynistic and patriarchal ideas are so entrenched... Ugh.
Enjoy your break and time being pool mom!