Kelly Diels, Feminist Marketing Consultant and my teacher in all things marketing, uses a tool called:

This is for you. And this is not for you. 

It is a concept to help people categorize in their head who they are and aren’t speaking to. Ahead of time. If someone objects to her work, rather than taking it personally – often realizes this work just ISN’T meant for everyone. This is for YOU. And this is NOT for you. 

I love this concept. It helps me write. 

When I think about who I’m writing to, three specific women come to my mind.

Julia.

I’m sitting with my legs crossed. 

My hand is moving wildly and powerfully by itself. 

Out of my mouth is an eloquent stream of words that somehow just flow and fit. 

Behind me is the backdrop of rice terraces in full bloom. 

In front of me, sits Julia. She’s a white-Australian journalist who married into a Balinese family. She lives in and reports about life in Asia. 

As I’m speaking, I notice her wide eyes and a slight smile on her face. 

Encouragement, interest and knowledge. 

For a moment, I have an out-of-body experience. While my mouth is still moving, I float outside of my body. I see myself so in the moment, so in the flow. So articulate. So excited. 

Is this really me?

Rhea.

I’m with my sister, recounting to her a ridiculous incident that happened at the gym. 

She’s already laughing. 

It signals to me – the floor is ready; the stage is open. 

Using her laughter as fuel, I lean into doing silly accents and physical comedy. 

She’s cackling now. 

I take even more liberties, I’m an outrageous clown. 

My jokes are making me laugh now.

Rhea makes me feel like I’m the funniest person in the world. While, I love to laugh – the moniker of ‘being funny’ is certainly one I never easily wear or aspire to. Still, in my sister’s presence I go all the way. I try accents, jokes and physical comedy I would never feel safe doing otherwise. She’s already laughing. She’s already telling me it is safe.

Porsha.

Porsha’s on a roll. 

She’s just shared something heartbreaking and profound at once about the African American woman’s experience of growing up and connection to the body. 

I’m silent. 

Her eyes are bright and shining, as they always are. I take a deep breath and with a lot of care, I offer to her my observations. What I heard her say. What it made me feel. What it made me think about. And most importantly what I think of and wish for her. 

Porsha is a few years younger than me and in some aspects of her experience, I see parallels between our collective journey towards the body, towards healing, towards liberation. 

When I speak, I’m realizing things about my childhood, I never really did think about. Connections about scarcity, lack of resources and wellbeing. 

I’m speaking, speaking, speaking and the whole time my insides are gaping a large 

WOW. WOW. WOOOW. 

You should write this down.

This is for you.

Julia. Rhea. Porsha.

What do these three women do for me? 

I feel like before I even speak, they’ve embraced me. They’ve accepted me. They’ve given me the signal of safety to use the language I want – not to edit it or try to simplify it. 

Whenever we are in conversation, they’re listening. Keenly and intently. More than anything, they always let me know how what I’ve said made them feel. That gives me fuel. That makes me realize what I say actually matters. 

And so, from somewhere deep in my soul comes this desire to speak with intention and care. 

To speak with kindness. And what comes out of my mouth – mostly – is gold.

When I write

And so, when I write – who am I thinking of? Who am I writing to? 

I’m writing to the Rheas, Porshas and Julias of the world. 

The people who are already on board with some of my ideas. The ones who are ready to chuckle or think deeply. The ones who aren’t hostile or cynical. I’m writing thinking they’re going to read it and like every conversation I’ve had – they will consider it deeply. They will give it a fair shot. 

So, when the voices in my head come up and say nasty things like:

That’s such a shitty piece of writing. 

That’s a cheesy story. 

That’s not deep enough. 

That’s not socially and politically critically aware enough. 

That’s not funny. 

That’s not articulate or elegant enough. 

 (And those voices defiantly come up when I am getting ready to hit the Publish button’)

Well, in those instances, I have to remember these three women. 

Do I think they’d enjoy that? If I send it to them, will they send me a smiley face back. Will they hold it with care and consideration?

Then I do.

Why do I write?

I write because I’m inspired. I also write because I’m confused. I write because there are the beginnings of some kind of concept or theory I want to explore. There is a life experience I want to contextualize. 

When I’m not sure of myself, I need safety. 

My nervous system needs to be calm, relaxed and safe. And this is what these women provide me with – safety. With their support – I’m unstoppable. I can engage with every aspect of my curiosity. I know they are not going to judge me. If I err, which I often do, they will frown or grimace. Then, I begin to course correct or find a better way to articulate my story. 

The larger collective feels incredibly unsafe. 

More often than not, people don’t want to listen to you. People can’t listen. Or maybe some people don’t believe that someone who looks like you has the right or the faculties to be expressing opinions with such rigour. 

Maybe people look at you and are happy to hear you speak as long as it is consistent with their world view of the status quo. But I don’t want to write in a way which confirms the ways of the world. I see so much injustice, so much materialism, so much waste around me. The more I see, the more I think – surely, there must be another, better way. 

I write because I need to clarify what that other way may be.

*

Here’s the exact opposite of what it feels like to speak in a room where people won’t hear you.

The Men Are Talking

I’m 23 years old. I’m working as a Business Journalist in the Middle East.  

The real estate market has crashed in Dubai. A lot of property developers have absconded and cited ‘force majeure’. Now, investors are getting together to discuss their next actions.

I’m the journalist assigned to one such case. 

For weeks now, I’ve been attending covert homeowner association meetings. I’ve been interviewing people on all sides of this case – investors, tenants and developers. I’m attending press conferences discussing the Dubai real estate market’s quarterly performance and projections. Sexy stuff? Not quite. But my point is – I’m well-versed in this subject.

One evening, I find myself in our living room between my father and cousin brother.

My cousin is a generation older than I am. He would rough-house with me when I was a five-year-old girl and laugh when I broke his cigarettes in half. My cousin is also a property investor who is now dealing with a developer who has left the country.

In fact, it is the very same property developer I’ve been reporting on. 

My father and him are speaking about this when I hear something that is factually incorrect.

I speak up. My cousin speaks OVER me.

I frown.

My father responds about the market regulation. Now, I know for a fact he is incorrect. So, I speak up.

My father smiles at me and cuts me off, in a very sweet way. 

There is no hostility in the room. No one has insulted me or told me to shut up.

But I got the message. 

We want you to sit with us, please. But, we would like it very much if you don’t interrupt us. The men are talking. 

*

This is the difference. This is NOT for you. 

The behavior of my father and cousin is exactly what the women in my life NEVER do to me. They take me seriously. They listen to me. They give me space before they challenge me. 

My father, my cousin brother, my bosses, and oh my God, most of the world – can’t seem to wait for me to flesh out a thought or an argument. Speaking with people who think the conversation is debating ideas by demonstrating your ‘opponents’ weaknesses – have missed the plot. 

I feel incredibly UNSAFE amongst these people. We are at cross-purposes. The message is clear. We are not willing in the slightest – to see you in the fullness of your humanity.

No issues. 

I have a call with my sister coming up anyway.

*

So, I would like to leave you with this thought. 

If writing or sharing your thoughts and ideas feel daunting – maybe it is because you don’t feel safe? If that’s resonating with you, close your eyes and answer these questions:

Who in your life makes you feel HELLAGOOD about your ideas? Who makes you feel safe to be wrong? Who challenges you and uplifts you? 

Got a few names? Great. Now – write their names and stick that on your laptop. 

Look at them anytime the self-criticism gets too loud.