We’re one week into February, and after a miserable cold streak, it’s feeling like spring in Kansas City. If we’re honest, we know it’s a trap. We have far too much winter left, and our weather is notorious for this kind of bait-and-switch. But we’re going to pretend it’s spring for as long as it holds. Everyone is out walking, running, eating meals outside, and wearing Birkenstocks like it’s full-on summer. Maybe it’s the sunshine or the buzz of Super Bowl weekend or our newfound kinship with Taylor Swift (she’s practically a Kansas Citian now), but KC has come alive again recently, radiating with energy and wearing red—of course.
Today I wanted to bring you in on some of my recent thoughts about writing on Substack. I’m still trying to figure out a sustainable pace for posting here, still toying with pithy explanations for why I’m writing in this space. But as I circle these questions, I keep coming back to the thought that I want to help us name the unseen things. That’s the heart behind the essays I publish here: I want to give us a few more words for the hidden things that influence our lives on a daily basis—the emotions and wounds, doubts and questions, desires and disappointments. I hope to offer you a little more language for your life by letting you take a look at mine.
Engaging our inner lives and naming the hidden things helps us know ourselves better, which, I believe, has the potential to create a lot of good. Naming something can quiet those nebulous feelings circulating around inside of us, bring next steps into focus, and push us to articulate our desires to God and to others. And in that way, naming things helps us realize we’re not actually alone.
Here are some words on the importance of naming that have really stuck with me:
“We think that by naming a thing we are giving it more power, but the truth is that by naming it, we become empowered. When we name the monster depression or anxiety, abuse or fear, sadness or grief, invisibility or anger, we begin to see the shape of the thing. We begin to see what feeds that particular monster and what starves it too.” —Lore Ferguson Wilbert, A Curious Faith
“. . . we often do not name [our desires] because we fear they may be too much or fall outside the boundary of what God or others see as proper. Sometimes we cannot name them because we do not even know what they are, so bound up are we by years of dismissing or denying desire. In either case, in not naming what we want, we neurobiologically burn energy containing it, only to have it leak out often in unproductive or even harmful ways.” —Curt Thompson, The Soul of Desire
“. . . language gives us the power to change ourselves and others by communicating our experiences, helping us to define what we know, and finding a common sense of meaning . . .” —Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score
And lastly, Maggie Smith puts it beautifully and succinctly:
“It’s hard to treat what you can’t—or won’t—name.” —Maggie Smith, You Could Make This Place Beautiful
I plan to keep posting essays here, but in an effort to practice naming things myself, I’m also going to start writing a monthly reflection post. I’m considering this post as a chance to practice wrapping words around my own life, and I hope it will give you a framework for reflecting on your life too.
The structure of this post may morph as I continue to figure out what feels comfy. My original plan was to post this reflection on the last day of January . . . but that obviously didn’t work out (see #2 under “Two things I named”). But in the name of progress over perfection, I’m still sharing January’s post. Here’s what you’ll find in this month’s reflection.
A short list of things I noticed:
I’m trying to pay attention to the world around me and the details of my days. I want to notice the beauty of heavy snow on branches and the way the winter light spills in my front windows. I want to pay attention to what worked and what didn’t, what was life-giving and life-draining. I want to capture moments that made me laugh or think or shake my head in wonder or disbelief. Sometimes these observations may lead to bigger realizations, but other times the act of noticing is enough. Either way, I want to practice paying attention to my actual life with all of its richness and absurdity, lightness and depth.
Things I named + questions for you:
I have a loud internal life, and putting some of those thoughts and emotions into words helps quiet things down. Naming something helps me turn my attention fully toward that thing in order to see it more clearly. It alerts me to things that need my care, and it helps me know how to better communicate with people in my life. In this section, I’ll share at least one thing I named in the previous month and include a question or two to help you name something in your own life.
Words that resonated:
And lastly, in an effort to give us more language for our lives, I’ll share a few quotes that stuck with me in the previous month. Most likely these will be from books, but podcasts, songs, movies, and TV shows are also likely contenders.
Let’s get started with January’s reflection!
Three things I noticed:
After weeks of snow, gray skies, and insane windchills, the sunshine makes me feel like an absolutely new person.
Marty really loves this one super-soft blanket I got for Christmas, and he’ll snuggle longer if I let him lie down on it.
Moving my body, going to greenhouses on cold days, and having things to look forward to (like dates with Isaac and celebrations for friends) have been life-giving things this winter.
Two things I named:
I need to give myself a buffer after being social. I’ve noticed a pattern of feeling uneasy and out-of-sorts right after leaving social settings recently, especially if it’s with more than one or two close friends. I’ve been interpreting this as sadness or regret, and it has led me to replay conversations and overanalyze my interactions. But if I give myself a few minutes of quiet after leaving an event, more often than not, those feelings tend to simmer down.
I love being with people, but the reality is it tends to drain me. I absorb a lot of things—emotions, noise, relational dynamics, conversations. I take it all in as input. And because of that, I need some space afterward to rediscover what’s mine and what belongs to someone else. It doesn’t mean I didn’t have fun or didn’t see the gathering as valuable. I think it’s simply part of being introverted and highly sensitive to external stimulation. Maybe this seems incredibly obvious, but the truth is that I didn’t realize I was an introvert for many years. I’m social and I love talking with people, so I always told myself I was an extrovert. (Sorry, introverts. I seriously misunderstood us for a long time.)
Misnaming that part of myself led me to neglect what I actually need to recharge—space and time alone.
I’m realizing I need to set down any serious introspection until I’ve had a few minutes to replenish my energy. It can be as simple as driving home in silence or retreating to another room for a couple of minutes, but creating a little buffer helps me see things more clearly. Then I can decide if there’s anything I need to address or if I actually just needed a minute, please and thank you.I’m a beginner. I’m currently rereading The Next Right Thing by Emily P. Freeman, and she talks about the importance of admitting to yourself if you’re a beginner in a certain area of your life. Admittedly, we do not like to do this. We would prefer to be experts and skip all of that messy I-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing stuff.
For me, this means naming the fact that I’m a beginner when it comes to being a freelancer and (consistently) pursuing my own writing. And while I knew this, I found myself needing to name it again this past week as I started berating myself for a few things. I am a beginner, and that means that I’m still new to being my own boss, juggling projects from totally different clients, deciding what to say yes and no to, and knowing how to prioritize my writing.
I’m asking questions like: Should I take that opportunity? How much should I charge? How long will that project actually take? If I do that, how will that impact my other commitments? Am I making good decisions?
I’ve been really hard on myself recently for having so many questions and for struggling with decisions, but when I stop and remember that I’m new at this, it helps me give myself a break. This season is still new. I’m still a beginner, and I’m still learning. And that’s okay. It’s not comfortable to admit that we’re beginners. It’s hard to be patient and to allow ourselves to be small, but as Emily says, being a beginner is a “respectable, worthy place to be.” It also comes with its own weight that deserves to be acknowledged.
She says, “All beginnings, no matter what they are, hold elements of both joy and heartbreak. When we enter a new beginning, we have generally also experienced some kind of ending that comes with layered emotions and experiences of grief, transition, and letting go. Don’t be afraid to be a beginner. Be relentlessly kind to yourself.”
I’m a beginner. I want to be honest about that, to be curious about what I don’t know yet, and to be relentlessly kind to myself along the way.
Your turn:
Is there a story you’ve told about yourself that no longer seems to fit? How can you reshape that narrative to be a little closer to the truth? How does naming that thing impact your daily life?
Where are you a beginner right now? How does naming that impact how you feel toward yourself? What’s one way you can be more kind to yourself in this season?
Words that resonated:
Here are a few words that stuck with me in January from a novel, a nonfiction book, and a memoir:
“The flames of the tapers flicker; his eyes seem to gather all the light in the room. ‘The things that look fixed in the world, child—mountains, wealth, empires—their permanence is only an illusion. We believe they will last, but that is only because of the brevity of our own lives. From the perspective of God, cities like this come and go like anthills.’” —Anthony Doerr, Cloud Cuckoo Land
[Referring to the parable of the prodigal son:] “A great deal of effort is expended in faith communities trying to transform people from younger sons into older sons. But this is a fool’s errand, because what mattered most to the father was neither the younger son’s disobedience nor the older son’s obedience, but having his sons with him. And so it is with our heavenly Father. Reversing the rebellion of Eden and restoring what was lost can only be accomplished when we learn that at the center of God’s heart is having his children with him.” —Skye Jethani, With
“They did not give answers, not at first. They did the harder thing and asked questions. What does it feel like to be her? And in the answering, her heart awoke to something. To know people could see your inside and not revile you, this seemed a surprising new variable of the equation.” —Harrison Scott Key, How to Stay Married
That’s it for January’s belated reflection—thanks for reading! If the reflection questions prompted any thoughts for you, or if there’s something else you’ve noticed or named in January (or early February), I’d love to hear about it. Feel free to leave a comment below.
Love this, and I’m definitely going to be reflecting on those questions! 🤍