The Fluent Self

Friday Check-in #16: the “covered in dust!” edition

Havi Brooks — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 15:32:06 +0000

Because it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.

And you get to join in if you feel like it.

I have a splinter in the palm of my hand. Scraped my shin. Broke most of my nails. Cut my thumb. Am covered in dust. And haven’t changed my clothes in three days.

Oh, the fun of moving.

On the other hand? Hoppy House!

We have Hoppy House! (To be sung — enthusiastically and tirelessly — to the tune of I am Iron Man)

The hard stuff

Moving!

Obviously moving was by far the hardest part of this week.

Transitions are kind of a pain in the ass. Having everything in boxes is disorienting. Not being able to get ~~a whole lot of~~ any work done is stressful in and of itself.

The move itself is obviously a good thing. But when you’re in it, it’s kind of nightmarish.

Plus I was sick and cranky and not having patience for anyone. Oh, and not able to sleep, so during the day I was this jet-lagged zombie shell.

Which might explain all the moving injuries. Also, our new neighbors now know us as the sort of people who curse loudly in front of small children.

I should not be allowed to go to Roller Derby ever.

The three days right before we moved were taken up completely by the national Roller Derby championships — Northwest Knockdown.

Which, even without the move, was enough to turn me into the world’s biggest stress case.

I care way too much. About a lot of things. But specifically about this.

Seat me next to a bunch of loudmouth men from Texas who are shouting the meanest obscenities possible at my girls from Chicago and it totally gets ugly.

My dark side came out to play, which is often highly entertaining, but in this particular case it was pretty depressing to see just how hateful I can be.

Though I will say that I am very, very funny when I’m mean.

The good stuff

Moving!

Yes, it was also the good part. No, the best part.

Because now we are ensconced in our Hoppy House. Hoppy House!!!

Still a ton of unpacking and putting-away-of-things to do but we’re home. Home. That is huge.

Also, my gentleman friend and I tried to figure out if there would be anything at all we’d miss about the old place, aside from hearing rain on the skylight. And the awesome view of Mt. St. Helens from our old living room window.

Goodbye, Helen!

And no. We will not miss our neighbor with the drum set. We will not miss the other neighbor who is learning to play the trumpet but not learning very well.

We will not miss the puke green kitchen.

We have Hoppy House! I LOVE this place.

Roller derby!

Okay, so if you forget about me being a hate-filled monster and we just talk Derby for a second, I got to be present for two of the most amazing bouts in history this week.

The first was watching Chicago (finally!) destroy Texas after the closest, most excruciatingly nail-bitingly tense game imaginable. Texas had been up by a few points for most of the game. Going into the last jam they were tied 91-91.

Two minutes later it was Windy City 110 … and Texas left in the dust with 97.

The entire arena was flipping the heck out, the guys next to me were in total shock and I was the happiest I’ve been since I don’t know when. Last week, probably.

What an game!

And right after that we watched the Gotham Girls tear apart the Liberty Belles. Granted, I like New York and Philly pretty much equally, but wow.

Sure, the derby girls are all terrific skaters and scrappy as all get out, but New York is in a league all of its own. They’re just phenomenal athletes and it was beautiful to watch.

They fully deserved to win the whole tournament which they did easily, beating my Chicago girls 134-66.

And then Philly beat Texas to place third, so life is just good all around.

Can’t wait for the 2009 season to start. I might have to have the Shivanauts sponsor a local team or something ….

I have a new hat!

I know this seems like not that big a deal really … especially after getting a new home and watching Texas lose to Chicago in Roller Derby.

But I really like my fuzzy grey wool hat. It’s much warmer than my old purple cap. And it’s almost obscene how adorable it is.

Having inherited from my father the much-envied Brooks Hat-Wearing Gene, I am genetically programmed to get away with wearing any hat whatsoever and looking absolutely fantastic in it, but this one is especially charming.

If I may say so.

Friends! Kindness! Good wishes from around the world!

A ton of people emailed and twittered and messaged and such to wish me and Selma the duck and my gentleman friend luck and say things like “Good moving house tomorrow!”

Yay! That was really sweet and it meant a lot to me. Thanks, guys.

Also, Shannon Wilkinson, who is one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet and also hysterically funny, took an entire afternoon off to make me laugh while helping me schlep boxes and run errands.

Accepting help from people is totally hard for me, so it was good practice.

And actually, since it was the most fun part of my week by a lot, I think I might even be able to get used to this whole “other people making my life easier” thing.

That’s it for me ….

And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.

Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?

And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

I am a writer. And other confessions.

Havi Brooks — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 16:13:02 +0000

Alright. I am feeling quite strongly that I need to say a bunch of stuff about writing.

So I need a favor from you.

If writing is not the thing you have a tortured, obsessive love-hate-love relationship with, I’d love it if you would substitute something that is.

As in: whenever I say “writing”, you just go ahead and fill in whatever your “thing” is. Your secret love thing.

You know, the thing that — when you actually allow yourself to think about having time to devote to it — makes you feel elated and miserable. Joyful and terrified.

Painting, photography, dance, playing the mandolin. I don’t know. But you do. The thing you’d be doing if you had all the time and money in the world and didn’t have to tell anyone about it. Yes.

I am writer, hear me roar type.

I have been a writer for as long as I have memories of myself. But I don’t think I would have ever dared to use this highly problematic word until maybe a year or two ago — at most.

My relationship with writing has always been two parts fear to one part passion.

Me and my writing. A complicated, tangled shared history of shame and longing, and unbearable paralysis.

True, writing has been my salvation in the really crappy, painful times and my anchor in the good times. But the idea of maybe eventually getting around to telling anyone about it? Oh, not a chance.

The therapeutic side to the writing, the high of capturing just the right sensation, the power of being swept away by creative force … all of it outweighed — always — by the torture of having to say it out loud.

But I have a point to make here, beyond telling you about “my issues”.

I could — and I’m tempted to — write a complete history of this intricate nest of patterns. I could write an entire biography of disdain, cataloging my various resentments and hatreds.

Starting from the age of five when I declared one night at dinner that Isaac Bashevis Singer was a much better writer than his brother, to — oh, let’s see — yesterday when I went on a huge rant about New Yorker fiction and how much it sucks.

Let’s not go there, though. Well, not today.

I wanted to talk about what things shifted for me, both internally and externally, to get me to the point where I can tell you, total random stranger or internet friend, about my writing. About the fact that I write.

You’re probably going, “I’m not stupid! I can read that you’re writing. I’m right here.”

You are right. Forgive me. It’s just that within my own messy internal dialogue, the fact that I’m a writer is a huge freaking secret, so I tend to forget about the fact that everyone already knows about it.

So what changed?

All sorts of things.

For one thing, I started writing noozletters. Then ebooks. By the time I started the blog, I’d already figured out that this was all about giving people the information they needed.

Information. In a form that just happened to involve words.

And since the focus was all on the content and not on the container, it freed me up to put stuff out there.

I mean, no one expects an ebook to win any prizes for literature. Most of them are awful. You read it for the stuff you need to know and you ignore the typos and the cheesy, embarrassing metaphors.

No one would be paying attention to how I was writing … that was reassuring. And anyway, I knew my material was solid. So I was able to convince myself that the “hey, I’m writing a book” part of it would be okay.

Sneaky, right?

There I was. Writing. And — for the first time in my life — not diving under the bed at the thought of telling someone. Not apologizing. Not hiding my scribblings in a drawer. Okay, I still do that.

But it’s progress. Big huge crazy progress.

And I have to say that coming into my own as a writer — “owning it”, as they say on the west coast — is pretty much the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

It’s changed my business. It’s changed my relationships. It’s helped me get better at trusting myself.

And there are so many things I wish I’d realized a few years ago. Of course, if I’d realized them then, I wouldn’t have needed to go through this whole complicated process with myself, but you know what I mean.

What I wish I’d known. What I wish for you to know:

That writing is healing. Regardless of how “good” it is in your mind. The act of putting thoughts and feelings to words is good for your soul.
That I need to live my mission — and it’s not fair to hide what I know from the people who need it. Same goes for you.
That comfort and support and the ability to sit down and practice your craft are all things you learn to access. Things you learn to receive. It’s a practice.
That you can find comfort when you need it.
That the tingly visceral full-body experience of feeling safe to creatively self-express will come back more often once you’ve known it.
That each time you access this incredible sensation, it’s easier to conjure it up the next time.

An old dream come to life

Some of you might know that Jennifer Louden (yes, the super-famous super-sweet self-help author I’m always going on about) invited me to be kind of a scholar-in-residence at her week-long Writer’s Retreat this summer in Taos, New Mexico.

Her Luscious, Nurturing Get Your Writing Done While Laughing Your Butt Off and Maybe Crying a little Too Writer’s Retreat. For women who write (or wish they could dare to).

Obviously I’m ecstatic. Partly because I’ll be teaching my wacky yoga brain training work and some of my Emergency Calming Techniques. Which is just a ridiculously powerful combination.

And I get to teach some gentle yoga classes too, just for some additional bliss/fun/fabulousness, as if I weren’t already loving every single aspect of this.

But mostly excited because I’ll get to hang out with a bunch of amazing women who are — just like me — showing up with all of their “Ack! I love to write and I also get totally stuckified around it” stuff.

I’ll bring my fear and my worry and my doubt, as will everyone else. And then Jen will zap us with comfort and magic and love and really great writing techniques. And I’ll do the brain-training stuff.

And we’ll all take that high-powered creative juice and express the hell out of life, the universe and everything. With love and honesty and compassion.

I’ve never had the guts to go to a writing retreat. But this is the one.

Quick aside.

If you are thinking about maybe coming to the Writer’s Retreat thing, I should probably mention that it’s more than half full and that if you sign up by November 30th (Jen’s birthday) you save some money and get a coaching session with her.

Which is really like her giving you a birthday present — a fancy, expensive one — so I’m not really sure why she’s doing that but you should totally take her up on it. And wish her a happy birthday either way.

If money is tight (and man, I know), demand that everyone you know get together and buy Naomi’s Online Business School for you for the holidays (or in honor of Jen’s birthday) and then make the money to cover it.

Or whatever. Do the symbolic thing that needs to be done.

If you’re not saving like mad for the Writer’s Retreat, do it for whatever it is you need to do for your creative self.

Make it happen. Make something happen. Make that commitment to yourself.

Because the symbolic weight of saying yes to doing something with that beautiful, healing thing — the thing you have such a complex relationship with — is a big deal.

Because getting the chance to experience what it’s like to give real time and solace and attention and love to the thing that can feed you most … that is the most life-changingly great experience ever.

Your gift — even if it doesn’t feel like one — always gives back. The more you give to it of your attention and your patience, the more magical the results.

That whole “here I am being creatively expressive — look out, world!” experience is the stuff that runs successful businesses and happy relationships and healthy bodies.

As the lovely Ophelia phrased it so beautifully in the comments on Tuesday’s post: “There is a Blog Purgatory out there with the wailing souls of forgotten words.”

No kidding. Let’s rescue some of those forgotten words.

Love, hate, write about it, go back to bed.

I’ll see you there. There? Here. Your writing, your pictures, your movement, your music, your art, your whatever-it-is.

Whenever you feel safe letting a corner of the world know that it exists, everyone here will be happy to come out and cheer for you (as loudly or as quietly as you want)!

Whether it’s in person (can you say “in person” when there’s a duck involved?) at Jen’s Get Your Writing Done Retreat, or here in the comments section or on Twitter or wherever.

It really doesn’t matter where.

The point is: Count me in as one of your fans. If you’re brave enough to create, I admire you already. If you’re brave enough to even think about admitting that you’re actually not brave at all, I admire you for that too.

You guys have been such a huge part of my process. I’m planning on being part of yours.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

Blogging therapy: Nooo! Don’t make me be vulnerable!

Havi Brooks — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 13:07:26 +0000

Let’s go. This is number seven in our weekly series on how to take some of the scary out of blogging (or of anything else).

In case you want to catch up (you totally don’t have to), here are the rest of the posts:
Part 1. What if people are mean to me?
Part 2. What if I throw a party and no one shows up?
Part 3. Why even bother when there are already other people doing it better?
Part 4. What do I saaaaaaaaaaaaaaay?
Part 5. Help! Perfectionism! Gaaaaak!
Part 6. But I’m not an EXPERT!

Dramatic Voiceover Voice: “Previously on Blogging Therapy … ”

Right. So if you were here last time, we figured out that people actually want to relate to you.

In other words, showing up and being a real live human being with issues and fears and worries is a good thing.

And that triggered some serious “but I don’t want to be vulnerable!” and “but I can’t be vulnerable!” stuff that we all have.

You know how it is … you don’t want to be laughed off the internet or anything. Heaven forfend. And because — seriously — being honest about your imperfections is pretty damn terrifying.

Let’s talk about that. Who knows? Maybe we can soften this whole vulnerability thing up — make it a little less daunting and a little more attractive.

And anyway, if this is an issue that comes up with writing, it’s going to come up in every other part of your life as well. I know. Yuck. Sorry.

Vulnerable?! I’d rather walk on coals while poking myself with sharp objects.

We really, really need a better word for this.

There’s a reason you don’t feel like being vulnerable. And it’s also okay that you don’t feel like it. Why would you?!

I mean, it can be kind of an icky, uncomfortable word.

If I were going to do some linguistic mapping to chart out my own, personal associations with the world, some of them would definitely be negative. Like this:

vulnerable = [+ can be wounded] [+ weak] [+ helpless] [+ no protection]

Ugh. Right? So yeah, who wants that? On the other hand, there’s a bunch of completely different — and contradictory — stuff packed in there too.

The paradox of vulnerability.

Turns out there’s also power in vulnerability.

And beauty. And tenderness.

The kind of transparent openness that lets light through and draws admiration.

A hidden strength that comes from being tough enough and brave enough and secure enough to show a little softness and share something that is true.

And that’s what we want to access. The good parts. The internal reserves of strength that we need in order to be able to relate to the people who need us the most.

So if we want to shift this concept of vulnerability from a place of weakness and fear to one of power and solace, we have two choices:

First, to decide that from now on: vulnerability = strength. To remind ourselves that only a super strong person could be so human.

Or second, to replace the word itself. To talk about “humanity” or “open-ness” or “transparency” instead of calling it vulnerability.

I’m going to leave this choice up to you. Just decide. And while you’re deciding … let me make my main point.

Pay attention because this is absolutely my main point.

What I’m about to say is so important that I’m going to make a big deal about it through the magic of typographic emphasis:

The best way to convince people that you are capable of helping them is to demonstrate that you understand their pain.

If you truly want to help your right people (and of course you do), they need to trust that you understand what they’re going through.

All their hurt. All their fear. All their resistance.

That you know it. That you may be further along in the process of moving beyond it, but you sure as heck remember what it’s like.

You just can’t do that without showing a little skin. Just a little. Just enough.

Your humanity — your “hey, look at me, I’m a real live human being”-ness — has to be allowed to shine through, or no one will believe that you can help.

And that would be tragic.

Can we get an example with that?

Look at Naomi “fansocks” Dunford. She’s a genius businesswoman who teaches people with tiny home businesses how to make them work and be totally successful (yes, you should look at Online Business School because it’s the best thing ever).

She’s a brilliant copywriter and a terrific writer in general.

But her most popular posts are not the ones about how to make money or how to write copy or anything like that.

Naomi’s most popular posts are about how terrified she is and her fear that “doing what I love is a fabulous sparkly present and I’m stomping on it daily“.

Oh, and that time she accidentally did a topless video conference call with a client.

She’s written about being a highschool drop out and being on welfare and living in a homeless shelter and losing her baby. And all sorts of things that most of us can’t even imagine happening, never mind telling anyone about.

And my point is not that being honest about her pain and fear hasn’t hurt Naomi’s business.

It’s that it’s only helped her business. By a lot.

I can totally vouch for this too.

I’ve written about starting this business with my last twenty euros. About the second worst summer of my life. And about being scared of increasingly ridiculous things. I’ve also completely fallen apart in public here, more than once.

It has not hurt my business in the slightest. Just the opposite.

Actually, I’ll let you in on a secret. But first I have to tell you that I have the best coaching clients in the world. Super high quality. People who are smart and creative and funny.

Are they stuckified? Yeah, that’s why they come to me. But they’re amazing people to work with and I love them all madly. We have fun. And we have crazy breakthroughs together.

You know why? Because they trust me completely.

And you know why they trust me? Because they know that I get it. Because of the vulnerability thing. I have shared so much crap with them here that they know that I know about their pain and how it works.

They know I’m not going to try to talk them out of it or tell them that they have no right to feel bad. They know I understand just how miserable it is. And I do.

That is the power of being human and vulnerable out loud with your readers.

How to get started with this whole “being all human and stuff” practice:

1. Tiptoe in. You don’t have to start with the awful. Just share some of what you’re really thinking and feeling once in a while.

2. You can absolutely practice being human without sharing the most awful, tragic humiliations of your lifetime. It’s not like your first post (or your hundredth) needs to be about your ten year struggle with alcoholism.

3. Express genuine feelings. Not “life is so unfair” but “I look at all this stuff happening in my life and I’m feeling anxious. I’m finding myself really needing some reassurance and not always knowing where to get it.”

4. Model the process. If sharing things is terrifying, maybe that’s what you share. If you’re in a tough spot and you’re processing it by writing your way through it, show us what that’s like and how it’s helping you.

So that we fellow human-beings-with-issues-of-our-own can find solace and comfort in watching you work through the hard.

One last worry?

If all this processing stuff seems like it might be a little time-consuming, I hear ya. I know that a lot of the people who have written to me about why they’re never going to start a blog have mentioned the “I don’t have the time for it” bit.

We’ll be talking about that next week.

In the meantime, I’d love it if you’d just start noticing what it is you love about the blogs and websites you love. I’ll bet that with most of them it’s not because of their distance — it’s because of their closeness.

And maybe just the realization that being all human and stuff is valuable and possible and even kind of attractive — for some weird reason we’ll never understand — maybe that will be enough.

And if not?

And if not, that’s where you are right now.

Not the end of the world. You’ll just keep practicing at your own pace, right?

Tomorrow: complete and utter goofiness. You know I’m in the middle of moving, right? Next Tuesday: the whole “but blogging is too time-consuming” thing. See ya when I see ya.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

Taking on the “ew” aspect of affiliate programs

Havi Brooks — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 13:39:14 +0000

With the aim of not going crazy, I’m combining about six Ask Havi questions into one post. They’re all pretty much on the same topic anyway.

The theme — in the most general sense of the word — is the age-old question:

“Is it like, completely gross to make money for something I didn’t do?”

More specifically, though, it’s about what are known online as affiliate programs.

Occasionally the questions I get are about how to actually use them to make money, but much more often the questions have to do with “feeling gross” about certain aspects of them … okay, about the whole damn thing.

In fact …

Actually, my guess is that even the people whose questions are — on the surface — just about the making money thing, also have some residual worries that “maybe this is gross”.

Because otherwise, you wouldn’t be asking me — someone who writes about changing your patterns and habits so you can biggify the cool thing you do.

You wouldn’t want advice from someone (me again) who cares more about you having a conscious, loving relationship with yourself (and maybe making piles of money through that process) than about the usual “how to make blah blah blah in X days” kind of thing.

You’d probably be fine finding someone with a screaming highlighter-filled online sales page to teach them about this stuff. Because lord knows it’s not like there’s a shortage of those.

And you definitely wouldn’t be asking someone whose co-teacher is a duck.

So let’s talk about “gross” for a minute and what that’s all about..

The questions vary, of course, and so do the words.

It’s not always “gross”. Sometimes it’s disgusting, dirty, slimy, sleazy or icky. Or some combination thereof.

Actually, whoring and slutty are pretty popular too.

But let’s just use “gross” for now and I’ll give you a sense of the type of thing that people want to know.

Stuff like:

Is it gross to join a program like this?
Is it gross to have a program like this in your own business?
What do I do when I want to promote stuff that I like … but I feel gross about it?
What if other people think it’s gross of me that I’m involved in something like this?
Is it gross that I don’t feel gross about this?

And so on.

It’s make-believe hour!

Let’s pretend that I’m having a conversation with one person who has most or all of these questions.

Except that — since we’re pretending — let me pretend that they’re asking the questions I wish they’d ask. Actually, let me have this conversation with Selma.

No, an interview. Selma should interview me. If it’s a conversation, I’ll have to take time to empathize and acknowledge the person’s feelings and stuff. And that’ll take forever.

Selma: ?!?!

Havi: Okay, this is not going to work. Let’s have a made-up person interview me, a composite of people-who-ask-me-things kind of person. Let’s say … someone who has a website and wants to start biggifying but is having some issues with it.

And so the fake interview begins …

“So Havi, when did you stop feeling gross about this stuff?”

Well, the question of whether or not I’d set up a program like this started coming up when I first started getting all biggified.

And I had all kinds of issues around it. Serious resistance. Serious stuckification.

It just felt …. yeah, okay, kind of gross. And stressful.

But then there were all these people who were recommending my stuff anyway. And it got to this ridiculous point where someone like Pamela Slim or Jennifer Louden would just randomly drop my name and all of a sudden I’d make a pile of money in an afternoon.

And here I am, writing a thank you note. And it’s like, that’s not enough.

Not because Pam and Jen wanted something more from me. But because hey, here are these amazing people recommending my work because they’ve tried it and they know it works … and I want to share my jumping-up-and-down happiness with them.

All of a sudden it felt like it would be really joyful and honest to be able to thank people for being awesome. To thank them for helping me be useful to the people who need my stuff the most.

By doing more than just, you know, sending them my eternal gratitude when they send people my way.

By literally sharing with them what I’ve received through their believing in my mission in the world.

And I realized that, in order to do that, I needed a system.

“So … what, you just stopped feeling gross about it?”

Hahahahahaha. No. Not at all.

I had a lot of stuck to sort through. Mainly with the words. It’s a cliche, but there it is: the words we use have incredible power to affect how we perceive what they describe.

Changing your outlook without changing the vocabulary that goes along with it is really, really hard. Not impossible. But hard.

For me, the word affiliate is just kind of inflexible — cold and a bit inhuman. It conjures up images of robots. And people who work “in sales”.

My stuff, I know. But I just don’t like the word. I don’t want to have that kind of “affiliates”. And I definitely don’t want to be one either.

“Okay, I need to know more about this vocabulary-changing stuff. What do you mean?”

Well, I made two linguistic shifts that helped me tremendously.

1. I decided I was going to start a partner program.
For people I liked and trusted and could feel good about partnering with.

Not only are partners not “gross”, but I can feel warm and fuzzy about them and think of them fondly. Whereas if I had a bunch of affiliates I couldn’t really feel anything about them because they would be robots.

I mean, they wouldn’t really, but in my mind they would be. And since that’s where I hang out most, it’s an important distinction.

2. I invented a goofy name for the bigger picture.
Instead of thinking about things like “affiliate marketing strategy” which totally sets off my ew ew ew buttons, I started talking about “appreciation monies”.

Appreciation monies means “what I give to the people I love when they make me a bunch of money out of the goodness of their hearts”.

And it also refers to money I get from Powell’s or from recommending stuff that I truly believe makes a difference in the world — and I’m up-front about it when I promote something in an affiliate-y way.

“Interesting. But how do you not feel gross about taking money for recommending things?”

Ah. Good question. That is about trust.

This is a pretty big theme for most of us. I’d say that learning how to really and truly trust yourself is something we all should be working on all the time.

You need to be able to sit down and ask your heart: am I really a total sleazebag or could it be that my judgment and self-criticism patterns are running the show again?

For me, it’s very clear that I would never, ever recommend something just in order to make money. I’ve learned to make friends with the fact that I have crazy integrity.

So I trust that this is only about things that I recommend anyway. And about allowing myself to be vulnerable. Allowing other people to feel that joy of giving back to those of us who believe in them.

“So you don’t think affiliate marketing is gross?”

Well, I’d say that it totally depends.

It depends on what you’re promoting and how you’re promoting it — and also on your own perception of what it means to partner with someone.

Obviously there are different points on the sleaze-non-sleaze kosher marketing continuum, so you’ll always think that someone else is “doing it wrong” — and that’s okay too.

It comes down to your relationship with yourself. Can you find a way of working with partners that fits your understanding of what it means to have integrity?

And — at the same time — can you find a way to work on your own emotional patterns of feeling undeserving? Because it could be that by trying to protect yourself from “becoming sleazy”, you forget that you don’t actually have a sleazy bone in your body.

Sometimes it turns out that your fear is cutting you off from success and growth.

So it goes back to the whole conscious, intentional process of working on your stuff that we’re always talking about around here.

“We’re out of time, aren’t we?”

Yes, this is a long one, and — since I didn’t really answer most of your questions — I’ll probably have to come up with some more answers later, but we’re probably good for now. It’s food for thought, right?

Thank you, imaginary composite person for not making me write six different Ask Havi posts. I appreciate that.

And thanks to all the rest of you. I love that my blog attracts the kind of people who need to process their worry about the possibility of eventually becoming soulless sleazebags. As opposed to, you know, the sort of people who never worry about that kind of thing, but kind of are…

Anyway, you guys are the best. I’ll end this there before I start getting all sentimental.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

Don’t make me say it!

Havi Brooks — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 14:07:14 +0000

Is there any modern word more dopey and irritating than “blogoversary“?

Well, aside from “marketing” and “coach” and “networking” and stuff like that …

I think not.

Still, here we are. And I’m pretty excited about it!

Today marks 6 WHOLE MONTHS of blogging it up at The Fluent Self!

And if I had an enormous red typeface I’d be using it.

But I don’t. And I probably wouldn’t.

Moving on. Let’s talk numbers, baby.

136 published posts (including this one)
40 pages
1,091 comments (from actual people who are not a. robots or b. trying to promote themselves in a ridiculously over-the-top way)
2,681 spamtastic comments caught by Akismet (yay, Akismet)
1 comment by Seth Godin *swoon*
And … weirdest search term ever that someone (who can’t spell, I’m assuming) used to get here: “How do I make my duck more bigger?” Oh yeah.

Ooh, I should probably also mention that my Alexa ranking is, of this writing, a shockingly rock-star-sensational #103,272. It was over 5 million when I launched the blog.

And (chorus) that’s why everyone should have a Wordpress (.org) blog.

Just saying.

Things you probably don’t know about this blog.

I’ve done ZERO promotion. No “get X number of subscribers in Y amount of time” campaigns. No “strategic” commenting. Pretty much the only place I even mention it is on Twitter. Weird, I know.
My gentleman friend calls it my Blarg. This, of course, cracks me up.
Selma gets more fanmail than I do. Having a duck might actually be the secret to blog success. Do not do this, though, or she will come and have words with you.
All of my made-up words (biggify, destuckification, helper mouse, etc) have totally propagated around the internet, to the point that no one even remembers that I made them up. Which is bizarre, yes, but very, very cool.
This blog has inspired at least eight people that I know of to start blogging it up themselves. HOORAY for that! Awesome.

People I need to thank …

Okay, let’s try and keep this short, acceptance-speech-style.

Kelly Parkinson from Copylicious. She’s the one who bullied me into starting this blog to begin with.
Nathan Bowers, Wordpress consultant to the stars. He gave me so much good advice pre-launch and still does. I owe him bigtime.
The GirlPie. Mz GirlPie — mysterious commenter of the night — was one of the first regular commenters here and full of encouragement and good advice when I was still feeling my way into it.
Andy Wibbels — for inspiring me to start blogging in the first place.
Pam Slim — for being a wonderful friend and whispering sweet nothings in my ear at the right times.
Mark Silver — for steady encouragement and genius techniques and for occasionally popping over for a spontaneous afternoon chat.
Naomi Dunford — for being my internet crush and my champion. For spending hours on the phone with me giggling hysterically and for regularly sending all her smart, nutty, wonderful readers over here.
The best designer in the entire world — for being a creative genius and for putting up with me and for making all the gorgeous icons. Anything that looks good here is because of Richard.
Everyone I know on Twitter. I’d spent two and a half years building a noozletter list before I started the blog and most of that list wasn’t interested in hanging out here. Nor were my friends. So if it hadn’t been for Twitter-folk, it could have been pretty lonely here.

Okay, I’ll stop now.

Not blogging, of course. Tfu tfu tfu. Heck, I’m not even planning on stopping this post just yet. I’m just done listing every single person who’s been a part of creating this crazy thing.

Because otherwise this could get long. Even for me.

But I do have to say that so many incredible and unexpected things have resulted from this experiment so far.

Selma and I have gotten to eat biscuits with people I’ve long admired from afar. Like Colleen the Communicatrix and Jennifer “Oh how I love that woman!” Louden.

We’ve also met (though not yet in person) some super-neat, creative, fun, nutty, wonderful people like Chris Zydel and Kate Harding and James the Dancing Geek and far too many to list here.

But most of all, this whole blogging thing has reminded me that I’m a writer first.

It’s reminded me that the creative process of putting words to the page — even if that page is somewhat pixelated — is something that sustains me. And it’s that understanding which has shifted the balance in my business.

Sure, there’s more of an emphasis on steadily, regularly giving to others in the form of information and concepts and techniques. But it’s also more about taking care of myself.

This blog has become therapist and companion and friend not just to a ton of people around the world, but to me.

And that is really something.

I can’t thank you enough.

You guys rock.

And raising my glass of grapefruit juice to the next anniversary (I said that horrible word once and now I never have to say it again), I say:

Love and contentment to you!
Thanks for being a part of my Blarg …
Havi (and Selma the duck)

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

Friday Check-in #15: the “take that!” edition

Havi Brooks — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 18:58:32 +0000

Because it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.

And you get to join in if you feel like it.

Best. Friday. Ever.

I’m so excited about Northwest Knockdown (3 days of Roller Derby championship in Portland!) — and the extreme ass-kicking about to take place — that I can hardly get it together to ~~chicken~~ check in with you.

Root for my girls, okay? Not like they need it. But just in case.

Okay, let’s do this.

The hard stuff

Being about to move but not moving yet.

We move this Tuesday. Tooooozday. You-snooze-you-lose day. I’m-not-such-a-big-fan-of-Tom-Cruise-day.

The whole thing is making me a little crazed. Can you tell?

And since I’ve fallen in love with this dreamboat house (thanks, magical personal ad), the yearning and pining stuff is getting a little hard to take.

I keep walking over and gazing at it longingly. And then running away before someone calls the cops. Lovely. May also have to serenade it John Cusack-style.

Homesick.

Obviously this whole rooted grounding thing I’m doing with the move and all is very heavy and symbolic for me. Powerful stuff.

So — of course — the more I do it, the more I miss Tel Aviv.

In a heart-hurting, child-whining “I just wanna go hoooooooooooooooome!” sort of way.

And not just the city (the city!) but my friends there and my old neighborhood and my extended family and being able to say what I think the second it comes into my head and a million other little things.

It’s been almost four years since I left. It’s probably time for a visit. We’ll see. I don’t really want to talk about it.

So let’s move on to the good.

The good stuff

I got to meet Jeff!

Jeff Moriarty is a Twitter friend.

If Twitter is my favorite place to hang out online and @jmoriarty is one of my favorite people there … well, you can imagine how cool that makes him.

Anyway he was visiting Portland and came all the way across town in the rain to have a hot drink with me. And it was completely delightful.

He’s as great in person as he is in 140-character bits-of-genius, and I pretty much did not stop laughing the entire time.

You know, the internet has been good to me in so many ways. And I’ve been able to meet so many incredible people … getting to hang out with some of them in person is such a treat. Hooray!

Speaking of Twitter …. hilarity and goofiness ensue!

One of the best parts of Twitter is that it’s a space where I can be completely kooky and ridiculous in ways that I probably wouldn’t here.

After my rant this Wednesday making fun of evil, manipulative ~~marketing-based yoga~~ “lumberjack” yoga, a bunch of Twitter friends started riffing with me.

It started — how could it not — with “Monty Python’s infamous I’m a lumberjack and I’m okay” theme.

Then someone had the brilliant idea that we should produce an over-the-top yoga-lumberjack-themed Broadway musical. And then we started planning it.

And tagging our little missives with the (semi-obscene) #lumberjackyogabroadwaymusicalpr0n

Some of the highlights of our, um, conversation. You’ll probably never speak to me again.

dancing_geek: @sparkyfirepants *joins in at back* He’s a lumberjack and he is fab, sun salutaions work his abs…

sparkyfirepants: @havi I’m having visions of opening night.

heatherartworks: @sparkyfirepants @havi @dancing_geek - I am intrigued by this musical you are putting together #lumberjackyogabroadwaymusicalpr0n

sparkyfirepants: @heatherartworks @havi you don’t even have to harmonize as long as you can breathe correctly while swinging an ax.

melle: @havi @heatherartworks I was a transvestite lumberjack for Hallowe’en one year, and was a theatre student. Can I play?

And so on. I dearly love Twitter. It keeps me sane. You should be playing with us. We’re holding lumberjack tryouts next week.

This has nothing to do with Twitter, I promise.

This week I also experienced the most amazing healing session ever.

I’ve had all kinds of “wacky energy healing” stuff done that has been oh, less than impressive, but the work Hiro Boga does is freaking INCREDIBLE.

Seriously. Here website does not do her justice at all. I got a shocking amount of blocked stuff sorted out — things I’ve been working on for what seems like forever.

It was absolutely beautiful and I pretty much cried to myself the whole time and for three days straight I felt safe and happy and motivated and GOOD and CLEAN — and even now I can’t stop smiling just thinking about it.

I’m still boggling at how amazing it was.

You should probably go do a session before I convince her that she should be multiplying that price by three.

Unintentional awesome testimonial of the week!

From LeAnne McDaniel at Write On Communications (with permission):

“For whatever reason, maybe through your hypnotic marketing (grin), I trust you.

You sound like you have your shit together — you know, in the way that you don’t always have your shit together, but you’re mostly okay with that.

I want that.”

That is wonderful. Love it.

In fact, I think I want THAT to be my new tagline or something.

“Havi Brooks: she doesn’t always have her shit together, but she’s mostly okay with that.”

That is the most pure-hearted and weirdly flattering testimonial I’ve ever gotten.

Rock. On.

And really, how can I not leave you with this?

How can I not?

That’s it for me ….

And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.

Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?

And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

Saying no. Feeling awful about saying no.

Havi Brooks — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 18:14:16 +0000

I took a day off yesterday. It wasn’t the fun kind of day off.

(Though yeah, it is possible that some fun was had.)

It was the kind of day off that you take when you realize that if you don’t stop working right this second you are going to get sick.

I was going to have to take my father’s advice.

As my father likes to say:

“Take that mental health day before it takes you.”

Of course, it didn’t feel so much like a mental health day as an “I really, really, really don’t want to get a cold” day, but these tend to be more closely related than we’d like.

And granted, any advice from my father is a tad suspect …

Especially since he also says things like “Don’t be silly — stress is good for you!” and “Don’t underestimate the power of worrying!” and “I spent the whole day in crisis mode! It was fantastic!”.

It’s my experience, though that this particular bit of wisdom is quite sound.

All that to say that I gave myself permission to blow off work yesterday, which gave me ample time to devote to figuring out what was going on. And it boiled down to this:

I need to get better at saying no and feeling okay about it.

I’ve gotten pretty good at turning down new projects. I’m also (finally) okay with not giving my products away to everyone who wants a freebie copy.

But not giving help to every single person who wants it and asks for it … oh this is so hard!

I talk so much about the art of the ask and how we all need to get better at asking. Still standing by that.

And now it’s time for me to also get better at finding different ways to be helpful.

Yesterday was Wednesday and I’d already given away over five hours of my time this week. You know how it is. Readers wanting advice on things that just wouldn’t be appropriate to answer in an Ask Havi post. Friends wanting business advice. Like that.

Almost all of these were things that — taken alone — would have been fine. Me giving joyfully from my heart. Perfect.

Taken together … all of a sudden I was feeling tired and depleted. And what surfaced for me was the resentment coming up that my own projects weren’t getting the love and attention that they deserve.

Where the breakdown happens.

All of a sudden five hours seemed like a lot of productive time that, especially when you factor in that a lot of my time is taken up with clients and communicating with my team and stuff.

You start calculating the time that could be going to your own business multiplied by your hourly rate and this starts to get pretty depressing. And that time is actually much more valuable than that if you’re spending it (as I do) on developing products and programs that support your entire business.

Add to that the realization that, as my business grows like crazy (yay — not complaining), the number of people wanting from me is just going to go up and up and up …

Well, no wonder that I desperately wanted to hide under the covers.

Middle ground: what does that even look like?

Luckily there are a couple of things that are already showing up to help out.

In addition to my virtual assistant who takes care of most of my administrative tasks, I recently hired a personal assistant specifically to handle a huge chunk of customer support stuff and take on mini-projects.

She’s lovely and she totally gets what I’m trying to do in the world. *happy sigh*

Also I have a huge and awesome thing coming up that’s going to launch in about six weeks that I’ll be able to refer people to.

That way, I won’t have to say “Sorry, you really have to hire me for that” but “Here’s a (useful, helpful, very, very affordable) place where I answer questions like that.”

But what came up for me yesterday while I was meditating and pondering and yoga-ing around this issue was that I’m still feeling awkward and uncomfortable about not just helping everyone who wants my help. I’m a helper mouse. That’s my thing.

Wackiness: it always helps.

What that looked like this time: meditation plus tapping on acupressure points plus guided relaxation plus some weird made-up rituals that I’d rather not go into.

In retrospect it seems obvious that if I really wanted a clear answer right away, I should have done Dance of Shiva for that, but I was feeling petulant and irritable as it was.

Anyway, what came up for me in meditation were two concepts:

Clarity. And Safety.

So I asked myself what it would look like if I had more of these two qualities in my life. Or if I could access them more often. Or if I could trust that they were already there.

Stuff like that. And four answers — “bits of information” — came out of the asking:

I need to feel safe remembering that I cannot help everyone and that my own emotional comfort needs to come first.
Are you ready to see all the support you already have around you and to lean into it more? Because all you need to do is to say yes to it.
It is time for me to get better at speaking my piece.
Sometimes it’s important to put things where they belong.

That last one was the least clear of all four pieces. To the point that I wrinkled my nose and said “Haenh?”

(That’s how you say “Huh?” in German and it’s really a much better way of expressing irritated bewilderment than anything I could say in English. Trust me on that.)

Putting things where they belong …

Right. I totally had no idea what that meant. So I tried to figure out what might happen if I already knew what it meant to put things where they belonged.

Instant information.

For one thing, I realized that instead of filling out that ridiculous form that had me grumbling all day about how people trying to be “efficient” actually creates more work, I could have just had my assistant shoot back an email, saying (nicely, though):

“Here’s the one piece of information you need from me — everything else you requested is in the sigfile on every Fluent Self email.

And instead of trying to help my friends with every aspect of their new businesses I could ask them to write up a list of their questions and try to answer them in blog posts when I have time.

Maybe even write a series on business-building and how not to screw it up. Hmmmm.

Also: instead of passing out problem-solving to everyone who needs it, I could admit that the Ask Havi line is already several months long and that I’m flooded.

And/or let them know that really, really soon there will be a whole wonderful environment where I’ll be hanging out with everyone who needs me at very specific times.

That’s where I’m at.

I don’t have all the answers yet. Not even close. But I’m processing all the information I got on my day off.

It’s becoming ridiculously clear to me that if I want to live my mission and help all my right people and stuff like that, I cannot do it when I’m feeling tired and cranky and depleted.

This sounds so familiar and obvious that it’s almost trite.

If you’d said it to me a year ago I would have rolled my eyes and said, “I knoooooooow!”

So yeah, it’s totally one of those annoying little “life lessons that you I keep learning over and over again” but it seems like this time it sank in a little deeper.

Here’s the part that I just understood.

My peace of mind is the most valuable asset in my business.

By a lot.

Understanding that feels huge. Being able to teach that to my clients is also going to be huge.

If tuning into the clarity and safety that I need means having clearer boundaries and “putting things where they belong”, then I’m just going to have to figure out how to do that.

And — because I learned yesterday that part of my enormous, beautiful network of people who love and support my work in the world is my amazing group of blog readers — I know you’re going to be rooting for me.

Just wanted to say that I love that. And appreciate it so much. Sigh. Thanks for putting up with me — it’s great to be back!

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

Item! Why, there’s a bunch of stuff on my mind!

Havi Brooks — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 18:17:12 +0000

A somewhat goofy mini-collection of stuff I’ve been reading, stuff I’ve been thinking about and oh, some completely random crap.

Basically the stuff that never gets mentioned here because I’m not the kind of person who can just make some teeny little point. Not into the whole brevity thing, as the Dude would say.

Actually, I’m under the strict compulsion to write ten pages about anything on my mind. So this is me. Practicing brevity.

Yes, it’s crazy. We’re doing something new today.

Gradually expanding the comfort zone. Shall we?

Item! Perfectionism + insight = new patterns.

A very sweet post with some terrific insights:

Since paralyzing perfectionism is something anyone talented and capable is going to have to deal with at some point, I think you should read it.

Item! Sneak peek into my past …

Alex Fayle from Someday Syndrome did an interview with me about life and stuckification and things like that.

He asked some very useful questions. Good stuff. My duck doesn’t get to say anything because she wasn’t invited. Take that, Selma! Who’s the famous one now?

Anyway, I think you’ll like it.

Item! Indulge me while I go on a mini-rant.

I was on Problogger, reading about Digg and traffic-ey stuff and all the stuff I’m apparently supposed to care about but don’t enough.

And some little troll said the following:

“All social media is a waste of time. Search engine traffic is what you need.”

Hmm. “Social media” is a big word. You’re using social media right now, person making this ridiculous comment, by commenting on a blog and linking to your website.

Your site’s unimpressive Alexa ranking leads us to think that you haven’t in fact been able to do what you’re suggesting (drive search engine traffic from keywords) and you’re trying other things instead.

Like using social media to insist that social media is useless.

Dig yourself. No, not Digg. Just dig yourself. Okay, I’m done.

Item! What to do when people aren’t being supportive …

Interesting post from Jonathan Fields on success and jealousy.

This relates pretty closely to week 5 of the Non-Icky Self-Promotion course that I taught with Naomi where we talked about what to do when you aren’t getting the support and encouragement you need from your family and friends.

I wouldn’t say that agree with him on everything here, but he makes some very important points. This is a huge theme when you’re dealing with wanting to succeed at something and at the same time being terrified of that success. Read it.

Item! Oh the irony!

Is there anything more embarrassing than “abundance”-flavored incense?

Why yes, there is. Not lighting that incredibly yummy smelling abundance incense because they stopped selling it and you’re afraid of using it up. Using up the abundance.

Oh the irony. Oh the screwed-up-ness. Oh the ridiculousness of it all.

Item! Ew ew ew ew!

Every once in a while I stumble upon something especially gross that is so far to the awful slimy side of the sleaze-non-sleaze kosher-marketing-continuum that I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or dance a jig.

Or go take a shower. Man.

This is the most appalling and least yogified advertisement for something that claims to be related to yoga that I’ve ever seen. Join me in being horrified and dismayed, if you feel up to it. It’s fun!

And then we can go breathe and sit with that. That’s my practice for the day.

Item! This is awesome.

Fanmail of the week?

This is from Sarah Marie Lacy who is an artist and a delightful blogger and just generally writes great stuff and kindly gave me permission to share this with you.

Hi Havi!
I just wanted to say that your blog is a total life saver for me right now. I’m going through a healing process and I’m in a place where I don’t know who to turn to a lot (my therapist rocks, but I only get to see her once a week), and your blog is just exactly what I need to hear (or read?). Its wonderful.

Your stuff has allowed me to give myself permission to feel my pain, and acknowledge my fears, and work on moving past them and through them. I feel a little bit freer than I did before. Thank you so much. You rock!

Take care and I hope all of the awesome, wonderful things in the world come to you!

Isn’t that marvelous? I was so inspired by her that I did something I pretty much never do and gave her a copy of Emergency Calming Techniques.

Okay. We’re done.

Are we entertained? Oh good. There will probably be a “real post” tomorrow. :)

Until then …….. love from my duck.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

Blogging therapy: But I’m not an EXPERT!

Havi Brooks — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 18:03:17 +0000

Tuesday! Let’s do this thing. This is number six in our weekly series on how to take some of the scary out of blogging (or of anything else).

Wanna catch up? You don’t have to. But here are the rest, just in case:
Part 1. What if people are mean to me?
Part 2. What if I throw a party and no one shows up?
Part 3. Why even bother when there are already other people doing it better?
Part 4. What do I saaaaaaaaaaaaaaay?
Part 5. Help! Perfectionism! Gaaaaak!

Today we’re (gently) tackling the theme that freaks just about everyone out: expertise. And us thinking we don’t have any.

In other words, the whole who am I to write anything about anything when I’m not a real expert? thing.

Gasp! Cough! I’m not an expert! Get me off the stage!

What’s this pattern? What are we even talking about?

Well, part of it is fear of being “found out”. As in, what if people figure out what a total fakerooney you are and laugh you off the internet?

[Being laughed off the internet is something I hear a lot. Trust me when I say that no one gets laughed off the internet. The internet is a big, big, big place and there is room for everything and everyone.]

But I don’t want to imply that this is just the usual paranoid stuff that comes up for all of us when we’re feeling frightened and vulnerable.

Because this concern also feels completely legitimate. How can I give information to people if I’m not an expert in it?

And, as I say every week, keep in mind that this isn’t really about blogging. It’s about working on your “stuff” and meeting yourself where you are.

Maybe you don’t have a blog and couldn’t care less. Or maybe you’re a much bigger and more formidable expert than I am on this topic — it doesn’t matter. This “I’m not good enough and someone else is better” is a completely human theme.

So you should be able to relate this stuff to pretty much anything you’re working on.

Things to think about …

Even the experts aren’t experts.

That’s because — in some sense — there’s no such thing as, you know, the ultimate expertise where you know everything about whatever it is you’re an expert in.

A real expert is someone who knows how little she actually knows and is throwing herself into learning more.

No matter where you are in your field and no matter how much you know about a topic, there’s pretty much always going to be someone (or — more likely — thousands of someones) who knows more about it than you do.

Which is why you need to say “So what?!”

I’ll let you in on a secret. People don’t come to you for expertise.

Like, if you really just wanted to know about blogging, you would not be reading this right now.

Because you know what? I’ve only been blogging for six months.

Not even. It will be six months this Sunday. Yes, you may send congratulations and fansocks. But my point is, you could easily be listening to someone who’s been doing this for years.

No, I’m not an “expert”. I haven’t even been featured in Alltop. And I’m not going to be on a panel at SXSW this year (though if they don’t invite me next year I’m pitching a fit).

The people who read me show up for the love. For the compassion. For the chance to hang out with someone who isn’t going to lecture them and beat them up with a bunch of shoulds.

Well, let’s be honest. Most of you come here for my duck.

But even if I didn’t have Selma on board, the people who need my perspective on things would come here anyway to grab a quick dose of calm.

It’s not about the expertise.

It’s about your unique voice and the people who need to hear YOU and not someone else.

Even the “experts” have this fear.

Yep. It’s normal. Everyone always fears that they aren’t expert enough.

Just yesterday I got invited to be a guest expert at a program where every single other expert is a published best-selling self-help author. Of course the first thought I had was what the hell am I doing there?

And then I remembered that I want to be there (yay) and that everyone else is probably wondering the same thing — and that not being impressed with how cool you yourself actually are is a very, very human thing.

You’re not the only one doubting yourself and your abilities. So shift your focus to finding ways to feel safe and comfortable being you.

Because otherwise you could spend your life racking up “expertise” and still not like yourself. And that would be really sad.

And also a shame. Because your “right people” need you now. They need your insights and thoughts from where you are in this moment. Not a distant voice from some lofty pedestal.

You don’t NEED to be an expert.

Really. If you’re going to be giving someone advice on something, what they need from you is for you to be human — and to be one step ahead of them.

People don’t want expertise. They want humanity. They crave intimacy and closeness. They want their pain to be acknowledged and heard and understood.

If you’re this big-shot expert who knows everything about everything (or acting like one), you’re too far away from the people who need you. You can’t feel their pain. You can’t empathize with them. You can’t connect with them.

People want desperately to know that you “get it”. Not that you’re so far over it that they can’t identify with you.

You really don’t want people to say about you, “Oh, I could never do the thing he’s trying to teach me … he’s an expert and I suck.” You want people to say, “Wow, I’m so motivated and inspired by your example!”

Stop trying to be this perfect expert and start modeling for other people what it’s like to admit that you’re afraid.

Demonstrate for them (and for yourself) what it’s like to let yourself be human … and to show up with what you know, trusting that your right people will find you and appreciate you.

No one is an expert and everyone is an expert.

Derek Silvers who founded CDbaby.com — the guy who wrote some of the most genius marketing advice ever (for musicians who are basically the most anti-marketing people in the world!) isn’t an “expert”.

Sure, he is now, but he wasn’t when he started. Just some guy in Portland (yay, Portland!) who really cared about music.

Naomi from Itty Biz? Not an expert. Again, she is now, but not when she launched her site. She was just a girl who had some ideas and needed to make some money.

Me? Hahahahahaha. Not an expert.

Fine, I am now, but when I launched the Fluent Self website (not the blog) three years ago, I was just a yoga teacher who had a bunch of complicated theories about how people could change their habits and solve their problems.

It never occurred to me that anyone would listen to me. Seriously.

And yet we’re all experts. Through trying. Through experience. Through putting our thing out there and finding our right people. Well, through allowing them to find us.

Everyone knows something about something. If you know more about that something than someone who doesn’t know anything about that something, that’s expertise.

You have it and they want it. So share it.

The art of being human and vulnerable.

Again, people want to relate to you. Which means that being a real live human being who has issues and fears and worries is a good thing.

You can bring transparency to your lack of expertise. Like when Naomi launched her SEO School ebook. She was really, really clear that this is not a product for experts. It’s for beginners who don’t know what they’re doing.

That’s completely legitimate. It’s not only legitimate, it’s admirable. People will respect you more for showing up and being who you are, than for being distant and snooty.

Summing up.

No one actually wants or needs you to be an expert but you. This is all your stuff again. (Hi, stuff).

It’s natural and it’s normal and it’s okay. But in the meantime, there are people out there who need you. They need your voice and your energy. They need the stuff you know and your unique way of talking about it.

And actually my favorite blog in the entire world is written by someone who claims zero expertise in anything and just shows up without it. Every time she writes, she models for me what it’s like to be your wacky, kooky self and put it out there.

If you’re thinking, “But but but …. I can’t be vulnerable!“, no worries. We’ll be talking about that in next week’s Blogging Therapy piece.

In the meantime, give being a non-expert expert a chance.

Show up. Start writing. Start practicing being yourself in little tiny doses.

And the most amazing thing is going to happen.

As you do this practice, it will build your expertise. Because you’ll realize that you know more than you think you do. And that people appreciate you. And you’ll get that much better at appreciating yourself

And by then maybe it will be easier to release this old pattern of needing to be something you aren’t, so that you can come into what you are.

It’s going to be beautiful.