Hello beautiful human,
How do we value ourselves?
How do we communicate that self-valuing to others?
It seems we have decided, collectively, that we understand value through little bits of paper and metal, or (maybe more accurately now) through flickering numbers on our screens when we log into accounts. We call these things money. Money, in our world, stands for value. It’s hard for some of us touching-feeling types to accept this because we want to talk about what “truly” matters. But cold and hard as it may be to accept, money, truly, matters. We know this, because without money we have no food, no shelter, no healthcare, no transportation, no security, no chance.
Other worlds are possible but this is the one we currently have.
As an adult, I have been a homemaker (i.e, general manager of a household and family system), a mother, a poet, a volunteer. I have brought the full force of my passion, energy, and commitment to each of those great works because as it happens, half-assed isn’t really in my wheelhouse. I learned, I grew, I supported others, I continued to live at the edge of knowing, to move into bigger questions and to bring my creativity, curiosity, compassion and courage to everything I did. I am a lion of a woman.
None of those roles is paid.
I am a lion of a woman. I am fierce. I am large-hearted. And I don’t have any idea—I have no clue—how it feels to be paid (i.e., valued) for the very real work that I have always done and continue to do. That might be a hard thing to understand, so I encourage a pause here to re-read, to lean into all of this with curiosity and compassion and see where it lands in your body.
What is the true worth I bring when I walk into a room? How would I know? How would that have been communicated to me?
If I listened to my bank account or my social security statements I would have a very low opinion of myself and the “wasted” years I have spent doing “nothing.” (Yes, I have heard those words.)
Maybe you can relate. Maybe you too have identities that are culturally yoked to “just” and “only” and “huh?” Or maybe you can’t, and you have to reach into the distant corners of your imagination where the starships fly to comprehend my daily lived reality.
I want to make clear I don’t consider myself a victim in any of this. I know very well I made choices. And I stand by those choices. I believe I have lived and continue to live a life of great value and worth. Bank accounts lie. It is coming from a completely empowered—and impassioned—place when I say:
Let’s talk about paywalls.
Let’s talk about the act of valuing oneself, and one’s years of dedicated learning and earned expertise. Let’s talk about the craft and practices and skills that are invisible in our culture because unrecognized, that we have hardly the language for, but that are still real and here and present and impactful.
Let’s talk about the weird relationship we seem to have with things we get for free.
Paywalls…probably the single topic that writers in online spaces like this one are most passionate with each other about. Opinions and practices run the full gamut and everyone has reasons for their choices. Good reasons. And they also have a lot of loud reactions and opinions because money is our biggest taboo and hot button.
For me, having a paywall for some of my content is a relatively new practice. I’m used to volunteering, donating, sharing. I’m used to giving things away. In all honesty, it’s a vulnerable edge for me to have a paywall at all. I doubt myself daily and I’ve given myself a season this summer to play around and see what feels right.
And then I remind myself: it’s not bad to be uncomfortable here at the growth edge. When you see me include a paywall, you should know that’s my way of reminding myself this work has value. Behind each sentence I write here are packed decades of practice and the honing of craft. Even my sometimes sloppy grammar and my fragments and my self-interruptions…all informed choices I make for specific effect.
Even if no one signed up to be a paid subscriber (and so many of you have—thank you!), insisting on a paywall is my proof, to myself, of my belief in myself, and my value, in a way that moves beyond touching-feeling into the harder, colder reality we also have to navigate.
It’s a scary thing to ask to be paid. To say things like, I’m a lion of a woman. I’m a good writer. I deserve. And here I am. And I hope, somewhere in all of this, there might be something that helps each of us think about what we’re worth, how we’re valued, and what it would feel like to step into our choices with confidence. Even if we’re not quite there yet.
PS—here’s what I wrote one month ago. Read it before it gets archived behind the paywall.
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