✍️The Next Chapter
When 'Responsibility' refuses abdication, we must begin again.
In 2012, my world had been destroyed by the loss of a child. At 20 weeks, my ex-wife had a late term loss on December 24th, 2011. By this time in 2012, we were grieving, and also preparing to film season 3 of a reality TV show called “The Real L Word.”
The PR team at Showtime had a heavy burden with us two. How are you supposed to market such a sad story? Especially considering we’d had the audacity to have it happen off-camera.
In the previous season, we were cast as the lovable, hopeful couple trying to start a family. People watched us try and conceive, fingers crossed for us (with us). A lot of couples could relate. I got hundreds of messages on Facebook at the time. People wanting to connect, share their own story. Our story was having an impact. I knew that this devastation would have one too. I was so cautious sharing this news on Facebook. It received a lot of attention. Facebook at the time was good for sharing real things.
So when the PR team sent us Instagram, a new app that just launched for pictures, I met the news with a heavy heart. I didn’t feel like taking any pictures. I was heartbroken. Depressed. My ex was devastated, and also still recovering from being five months pregnant, her body processing the post-partum process without the reward of a child. No one tells you that part. That when you lose the baby, the body doesn’t know the difference. You go through all the physical symptoms of being pregnant. It’s honestly the most cruel thing. But that’s not the kind of story you put on Instagram. It was a place for beautifully curated pictures. Flawless sunsets. Golden hour selfies. Funny christmas cards. Celebrity sightings. 2012 was the beginning of “living your best life” online. But we weren’t. We were devastated. Living our a nightmare at home.
Reluctant but wanting to assuage the team, I joined. I followed a few of my friends. Delighted in the pictures of their dinner that night. Or their dogs sleeping. Their holiday decorations. I went to sleep thinking nothing of this. I woke up to 30,000 followers. I felt an immense responsibility again. To show people how to move through grief with grace and dignity. Honestly, I was probably also proving to myself that I could also. Leaving digital breadcrumbs of my heartbreak.
I have those breadcrumbs. The end of that marriage. The death of my mother. My aunt. My beloved Jonesy cat and Monty. My old life. The many versions of attempting to take that past with me into my new future. It’s never quite worked.
When people ask how much of the reality TV show was fake, I try and be honest. It was as real as I thought I was at the time. Evidenced by the fact that the person sitting here writing this is not the same person on the show. Not the same birth certificate. Not the same name. Not the same on a biological level. Or even a cellular one. Every 7 years, your body regenerates every single cell. Nothing about that version of me exists in the present. Nothing except the remnants of that Instagram account, and the expectations of what was attached to it.
I tried to be the version everyone else wanted me to be. I tried to project strength when I was weak. I tried to be honest and vulnerable. I tried to share parts of myself. To some degree it was me. But no matter how hard I try, I cannot escape the thought that there are parts of my life I don’t want the world to know publicly.
I want to connect with people. Genuinely. I am starved for good jokes, and real conversation. I really want to know how people feel. Not because they heard it on a podcast. Because they lived it. Because it’s their story. And I want people to hear mine. Not assume they know it because of a show. Or because of something I posted about online that is a capturable, entertaining part of me.
I want this next chapter of my life to be real. Really real. And if you know me (or want to know me), I can promise you the real version is so much better than what you see on a screen. My smile is brighter. My laugh contagious. I have a responsibility as a human being to give myself in love. I love through connection. Scorpio is my 7th house, and I am NOT meant for the public sphere.
So, in the words of the amazing Esther Perel… Where shall we begin? Tell me about your favorite book. What are you listening to that inspires you? When was the last time something gave you a hearty laugh, or a good cry? I am listening. I am ready to connect for real.
Substack is a place for writers. And writers are my people.
Here is my favorite. James Baldwin. What a gift he is. What a gift.
I am AuDHD, which means I am on the spectrum and have ADHD and OCD. In order to write, I like to listen to the same some on repeat, sometimes for hours, days, even weeks on end. For this piece, I chose: