“I’m a journalist and editor trying to find my voice.”
That’s what I keep telling people, but even before the words leave my mouth, I get annoyed. Find my voice… what does that even mean?
My voice isn’t lost, exactly, nor am I searching for it. It’s more like I’m finally giving myself permission to speak, daring to believe in what I have to say. I’m opening up my voice and letting myself see what comes out.
I’ve always shied away from actually being me in my writing. I didn’t think my experiences were interesting. Also, the possibility that vulnerable parts of myself might be judged was — is — so freaking scary.
That’s why I became a journalist; it was “practical” and I wasn’t allowed to write about myself. For 10 years, I’ve written others’ stories. I love the learning that comes with delving into each new subject and the inspiring, enlightening conversations I get to have.
I saw that I could grow outside of that old self, choose to change what wasn’t working, heal and become who I wanted to be — who I deeply truly am.
But a few years ago — spurred by Covid/a breakup/starting therapy for the first time — I began a healing journey. I peered inside myself, took a look around and realized that I was a product of my upbringing — all the great and shitty parts — our society and all the rules we subconsciously agree to live under, etc. I saw that I could grow outside of that old self, choose to change what wasn’t working, heal and become who I wanted to be — who I deeply truly am.
Quite a revelation.
And it was then that I started realizing journalism wasn’t really filling me up. No matter how much I poured into each article I felt less and less proud.
I had this sneaking feeling that this was because none of my writing was coming from me. I was mostly gathering information from others and trying to be “objective” (stay tuned for why that concept is bullshit). It was becoming stifling to not be able to say what I thought nor include even a little piece of my life (whenever I tried, my editor would sever it with a big ol’ strikethrough).
Then I read this:
“Writers who can’t delve into their own experiences are deprived of one of the most gratifying aspects of a writer’s work: The sense that who you are is making its way into your art. The work is deprived as well. When you aren’t able to get personal with your subject matter, you rarely get your story right.” – Writing the Mind Alive by Linda Trichter Metcalf & Tobin Simon
Shit.
At the time, I was writing about climate change. I covered a community-owned solar microgrid in the mountains of Puerto Rico; a mutation that makes cows more heat tolerant; and how we can better address climate anxiety. I had wanted to write these kinds of stories for a long time, it felt important.
But as I was thinking more about climate change, I saw that I couldn’t have the impact I desperately wanted to have — couldn’t find my place or power in facing the crisis — without first deeply focusing on healing myself.
I came to the same conclusion as many others before me: we won’t have the capacity to help our earth heal until we heal ourselves.
What followed was a whole identity crisis/ego death etc. that I’ll tell you about another time. For now, here I am finally turning to the work I’ve been avoiding — have been terrified of — for most of my life.
Because there’s this deep part of me who wants to finally be seen as I am. To share how I am healing, how I am becoming more myself.
This part of me is daring to hope that something I share may resonate, may spur a tiny shift, some helpful movement. That it will make some ripples of hope in these fucked up times.
But there’s a whole chorus of other (loud) mees that say I’m not ready/smart enough/have good enough ideas to start quite yet — maybe next week! So I told those mees that we have to let the process be a part of it.
That means we don’t have it all figured out and we’re still pretty scared, but we know that the only way forward is to admit that and maybe even write about it.
A bit about me & Healing Aloud
I’m a recovering people pleaser, codependent, atheist, perfectionist and child of an alcoholic. I grew up in an upper-middle class family in Northern Michigan and am currently living in a U.S. colony trying to decolonize myself.
I’m an artist trying to more fully express — through writing, painting and dance. Here’s something I wrote and put on my wall the other day:
This is hanging in my bathroom because I need the daily reminder.
Each day
I free myself
to become
a fuller
deeper
wilder
me.
That’s the goal.
I’m trying to relax into spirituality and learning what it means to have faith. I’m starting to feel comfortable saying I believe in “the divine” (though I’m still not sure what to call it) and my intuition. I find connection with this something greater and the truest, wisest Me (maybe the same thing?) most often when I’m in nature.
I’ve been healing through therapy; meditation; hiking; laying on rocks by the river; yoga; trying to grow and eat good food and herbs; energy work like reiki and acupressure; and other stuff some might think of as Woo Woo, like dreamwork and family constellations.
As my wounds heal, my strength is no longer bound up in protecting them; it can spread and expand and become a serious source of power.
I’m healing because it feels like the only path forward; the only way I can navigate this world of increasing loss and unpredictability — and do something that means something — is to become a stronger, more joyful version of myself.
I’m healing for my family, to be able to talk about what’s hard to talk about and learn to forgive. To mitigate the shit passed onto future generations and try to give them the tools to heal what I cannot.
I’m healing for myself, so I can feel more free in expressing the powerful me I am. I know that where there has been pain, there has also been the strength to overcome. As my wounds heal, that strength is no longer bound up in protecting them; it can spread and expand and become a serious source of power.
And I’m here sharing the journey in hopes that it will help more of us get to that deep, beautiful source of strength within ourselves and live more free and joyous lives.
To give you a sense of what that means, here are a few posts I’m planning to write in the near future:
Work In Progress
Dealing with the voices that tell me I should have already done what I’m just setting out to do — and perfectly — weeks ago
The 2023 lesson I am DONE learning
An affirmation for those of us who tend to lose ourselves trying to “fix” others
Talk about it
What I’ve learned about how to navigate climate anxiety
His Getaway Car had Red Leather Seats… aka Thank Goddess for my Dreams
How a nightmare helped me stop seeing a (SEXY) man who wasn’t very good for me
Bookshelf
The Tao of Pooh and other life-changing books
**HUGE CRINGE**
Sometimes I pretend people are admiring me to feel better about myself. Here’s what I’m trying to do about that
These will be shortish posts, once or twice a week delivered to your inbox or available whenever you feel like reading them on Substack.
Most of them will be free; you sharing a bit of your energy with me via feedback, forwarding to a friend, or sending $$ will help me know that this work has value and encourage me to keep going. You’re welcome to send along a monthly donation by subscribing, or you can send a gratitude tip anytime via Venmo (@katherinerapin), Paypal (katherine.rapin@gmail.com) or Cashapp ($KatherineRapin).
Thank you, thank you, for spending this time with me. It really means everything.
Til soon,
Katherine
Wow, what an astounding human! I'm so looking forward to following her journey and supporting her along the way :)
Congrats Katherine!
Brava!