i have a confession

"Everyone needs time to develop their dreams. An egg in the nest doesn't become a bird overnight." Lois Ehlert

I've heard it echoed endlessly, expressed in myriad ways: Let people love you.

But it encompasses so much more than that statement implies.

You have to let people nurture you. Support you. Catch you off guard. Stir your emotions. Evolve alongside you.

You have to relinquish control and have faith that others will show up.

And have faith that their actions, however imperfect, will be enough.

But the act of radical vulnerability — shedding every facade — liquifies my steely resolves.

Jordan K Lancaster

I have a confession: This space — me and you, this prized relationship — is a secret.

For many months, I've been writing and growing here, reveling in the community sprouting around my words and ideas. But it has existed in a vacuum, walled off from the knowledge of my family and close friends.

This newsletter became my nest, a sheltered place to incubate and hatch and wail and fledge. A sanctuary to unfurl and practice openness, while still maintaining a protective distance. An oxymoronic balance, yet one that allowed me to peel back layers at a cautious pace.

Until last Sunday…

My dad, a nuclear-grade weirdo, lounging with his oversized iPad, decided to Google his children. At some point, he called me so I could participate in this bizarre, boredom-induced activity.

The top hits for me were professional — my thesis, a work interview.

And then the outlier — Substack.

"This isn't you...wait, it is you," he murmured.

A quiet panic ensued.

"Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to come clean," I replied, feigning nonchalance. 🫠

I assured him I had been mulling how to share this side-self. And that’s true. I hadn't intended this space to remain cloistered forever.

It was just easier.

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Confronting the truth felt like teetering on the nest’s ledge. Taking that leap scared me, but not in the way you might expect.

My deepest trepidation wasn't about crashing and burning from parental disapproval or embarrassment.

No, what shook me was the prospect of no longer being able to maintain the heights I'd grown accustomed to in this space.

Here, I had molted all filters, cursing and discovering without apology.

The fear was that once my two worlds collided, I might inadvertently clip my wings. Would I subconsciously start self-editing and contracting? Reign in my feralness to make it more palatable?

The truth is, I don't yet know if or how this mashup of contexts will impact me. Perhaps some shift is unavoidable. Maybe that’s okay. Or even good. But it need not dampen or diminish my voice. For as daunting as that step felt, it may prove to be the only path.

And, for all I know, this act of overexposure could position me to receive new dimensions of nourishment and connection, inviting others to surprise me with depths of love and support I’d previously pushed away.

What if this is the powerful catalyst of a new beginning?

Like a bird abandoning her carefully crafted nest, just as she’s meant to.

Defenseless and free.

To be clear, I never doubted that my parents would show up and support this side of me once revealed. We have that level of acceptance in our family. But I couldn't have predicted the fullness of the joy and pride they would express.

Laying bare my inner life and creative work sparked in them a level of effusive celebration I hadn't dared to envision. It feels as though I’ve permitted their love to emanate at maximum intensity.

It is humbling and incredibly moving to be bathed in that degree of genuine appreciation.

In one instance, the curtain protecting my creative ecosystem rose. And rather than contracting under the spotlight, I feel myself expanding, invigorated.

I’m grateful.

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Trusting the process of receiving love is scary.

But I have to release my reflex to shunt myself off and, instead, remain hopeful that others will show up for me in meaningful ways, even if the outcomes are uncertain.

We, humans, have a paradoxical need for connection — we crave the intimacy of being truly known and accepted, but actually authorizing that level of exposure with others stirs primal fears.

But I cannot preemptively sever myself from the possibility of being seen, held, and encouraged just because sometimes I won’t be.

I’ve survived that pain before. And now I know I was made to endure these risks. I can be elastic.

It takes courage to quiet the voices of doubt and surrender into the arms of those who love us. But it’s the only way to make it through this life, and the surest way to experience the richness and transformations that can flow from these bonds.

And maybe with this confession, this small leap, after an unplanned push, I will soar to more…

And one day think back with thanks and fondness for my dad’s strange ways.

PS- Hi Mom and Dad! Thank you for being here. And a big shoutout to the familial guilt that made you become paid subscribers. 🙌

If being a paid subscriber isn’t the right fit for you, that’s O.K. I’m grateful for your presence in any and every capacity. You can always buy me coffee. It fills me with the excitement-induced energy I need to be a functioning human. Click below!