Nothing You Do Is Wrong. (Yes, You.) A Confession/Apology/Love Letter/Litmus Test. Plus, Anne Lamott's quote is on the cover of my new book & Oh Yea, I've Been MIA Because I Was Busy Getting Sober.

Will you take me back? Please? If this email was sex, it would be make-up sex.

This Substack is not sex. (Unless reading is like sex for you, in which case Hell yeah, I see you, nerd!) It will be better than sex.¹ I see I have set myself up here. Better than sex and Anne Lamott says I have a great sense of humor? What am I to do now? How can I live up to this?

How’s this for foreplay: Aside, from an Inner Asshole, I also haveI have raging tinnitus in my head AT ALL TIMES.

Had to be in caps because it is never not present. ) If you’re the godly sort, let’s just say it’s like God, in that it is always with me. If you don’t know what tinnitus is, stop right now and kiss the earth in gratitude. It’s a monster. Not as evil as the people running our government at present, but evil, nonetheless. If you do know because you just know, well, good on ya. If you know because you too have incessant ringing and whooshing and whistling in your ears then imagine me holding your hands in solidarity and giving us a medal for not dying because it is truly that awful and crazy-making and yet, we are not dead.

I keep hearing Nothing you do is wrong (keep reading for more on why these words are so powerful, besides the obvious) as I sit here to begin this long overdue note to you.

I have a thing I call The Sorry Bank- I write about it in my forthcoming book, also called Proof Of Life- Jesus, am I just going to call everything that from now on? If I have another child- I am not having another child, untwist your knickers!- will I name it Proof Of Life? If I open a coffee shop, will I call it Proof Of Life? I am also not opening a coffee shop. Ewww, I would have to be up at like the crack of dawn, or before 9 a.m. at least- just no. I make terrible coffee anyway, despite being an avid fan. If I open a bar, will I name it Proof Of Life and everything will be like 100 proof booze? No, no and no because A) just no and B) oh yea, I am 16.5 weeks sober. Forgot to tell you. Keep reading because that is the gist of where I am going with all this. I had to kind of bury it in there instead of making it the cold open like: Hi, I’m Jen and I am an alcoholic.

Anyway, re: The Sorry Bank. It’s where you Venmo me (I will happily take payments since I haven’t been writing here and many people cancelled and it is my source of income, yay me, way to go, Jen) or pay anyone or a charity (pay whomoever) 5 bucks for every unnecessary sorry you spew, as a way to curb your habit of over apologizing.

Look, the art of apology is divine and wholly underrated, methinks.

But, and this is a big but ( I like big butts and I cannot lie- I had to do it, Becky. Come on, anyone who came of age in the 90’s will never unhear Sir Mixalot and thank the radio gods for that) but, we apologize too much for things that simply do not warrant it.

Sorry, can I get more salad dressing? Sorry, can I say something? Sorry, but I can’t I am so sorry so sorry so sorry. Sorry, I can’t hear, I am deaf. Sorry, I breathed. Sorry, my body does not look like that other body. Sorry, I expressed emotions. Sorry.

I want to apologize because I made a commitment to you. I have been meaning to write you for so long and each day I didn’t, the intention to do so started looming larger and taunting me, and each day that passed and I didn’t write, I started getting madder at myself and feeling more overwhelmed by how much time had passed, so then more time would pass and then I would obsess more. Each day that went by I was more consumed with how much I wanted to just sit down and talk to you and each day I found every. Other. Fucking. Thing. To. Do. Including. Not. A. Fucking. Thing. to not write you.

Until it became so daunting and scary (why scary, I do not know, but it was and is scary for some reason and maybe one of the reasons is because I am admitting that I am- fuck, it’s hard to even type it- an addict) that I wouldn’t even look in my computer’s direction. I guess I owe my computer an apology, too. Sorry, dude. It wasn’t personal.

When I get overwhelmed, I get immobilized. And when that happens, well, nothing happens.

Look, I am a big fan of nothing happening.™

I fiercely believe in the Myth Of Productivity being just that. A myth. I do not keep myself overly busy (my mind is another story and that story is long and boring) and I do not (I try to not) equate my sense of worth with how much I have accomplished. But sometimes shit needs to get done. Facts. Like, opening mail. (Hides head in shame, despite all my talk about Shame Loss.) Like, dealing with my broken hearing aid (yes, my right one broke last night, and yes, it got lost inside my ear. Do not ask.) Like, dealing with my filling that needs to be taken care of since last summer. All of these feel embarrassing to type but that is what Shame Loss actually is. It is the refusal to hide in shame. And so, with that long winded ADD intro, I am not hiding in shame. Hello, I’ve missed you. I hope we can be friends again and I can earn your trust back.

If you’re still here, I have some news to share besides that big one of Oh, I stopped drinking my face off.

My book publishes July 8 and pre-orders are the most important thing- kind of like the holy grail of it all- so I am going to be doing some offerings and other shenanigans to get pre-orders because it is the only way bookstores end up ordering the book and the only way enough copies get printed etc. I will send an email out in a few days with the cool things I have planned for pre-order incentives, but in the meantime, if you have the funds would you pre-order?

Here is the link, which includes all the places you can get it from. It truly is the make or break for me. I need the make. Wait, I need a break. I need both-ugh. Which is it?

You can pre-order anywhere books are sold. If you preorder more than one, I will pee my pants with gratitude (or just from peri-menopause.)

I love you. This community is one of the reasons I am able to get sober- the love from you guys, the support, the I got youness of you all. Oh, my stupid heart. So full right now.

So much has transpired since I last wrote that I don’t know where to begin. That’s another way to not do the thing. I don’t even know where to start so I will not start at all. Problem solved.

Except, I’m tired of that behavior. Which is why I am here in your inbox. Avoidance is my middle name. If you can find my birth certificate, lord knows where that is, you’ll see. Jennifer Avoidance Poopy Pants Pastiloff.

Enter: alcohol. Helps a lot with avoiding! So effective! Yes, my art is a way of avoiding too, but I will tell you what. What: I will happily paint as a form of avoidance, rather than drinking or scrolling or comparing myself to more “successful” people, or picking my face in the mirror from anxiety or watching YouTube videos all day long while mindlessly consuming salt and vinegar chips until my lips pucker and I look like a blowfish. If painting is my medicine (and it is), as well as a way I avoid other things- fine. I’ll take it. With a spoonful of sugar, to boot.

Quick rundown: I led a magical creativity & connection retreat to Italy, as I do every year- sometimes twice. I will be going back for another Sep 13-20 (it’s almost full, so please email now if you want to apply.) I did another one here in Ojai, and it was amazing and….the first retreat I’ve led sober.

There. I said it. (No, I didn’t used to drink all day or teach drunk, but I think you know what I mean.) I am doing another one in Ojai Oct 2-5 (email me now if you want to apply because these fill up fast- and especially since my new book will be publishing. Trust me on this.)

I painted up a storm. I spent time with people I love. Henry and I (he will once again be in the next Mission Impossible: Final Reckoning and I cannot wait) went to New York and Santa Fe and probably other places that I will remember in the middle of the night. We fell more in love. I broke up with my phone. I also broke it, but that’s par for the course with me. I went to my first AA meeting. I recorded an audio book, I gave a keynote speech with Anne Lamott and Cheryl Strayed and some other biggies. I did a whole lot of nothing, too. I did love though. I did.

For those who follow Henry’s photography- which is amazing- he now has a page on Instagram just for his photos, aside from his regular account. It’s called @radiantflavor.

My friends have written some gorgeous books that I inhaled and bought for other people I love and shouted from rooftops about. Josh Brolin (whom, if you recall, I met on an airplane in October after I saw he was reading George Saunders on the flight, and geeked out- not because I recognized him as an actor, but because George. Hi, George. But hey, we find our people, I always say.) So, stay open, friends. It’s the key to everything that matters. (I’d love to hear your stories of magic things that occurred because of your willingness to remain open. Use the chat feature.)

Josh’s poetic memoir From Under The Truck, Lidia Yuknavitch’s Reading The Waves, Kristen McGuiness’ novel Live Through This- which, wait for it- I had the honor of narrating the audiobook. It’s a fantastic and heart-wrenching novel. I also listened to both Josh and Lidia’s on Audible, as well as reading them; as it was them narrating their own books (which I will do for Proof Of Life, too.) Jen Besser and Shana Feste published two of their three Dirty Diana novels (you may have heard the podcast with Demi Moore) and they both are sexy and un-putdownable. Legit, up all night reading kind of books. I highly recommend all of these books. It’s amazing how much more I am reading now that I am not drinking. Who knew? (Duh. Probably everyone.)

Josh’s wife Kathryn Brolin directed a short film called Mother’s Day, that she also starred in (!!), which Henry, me and

Kristin Diversi

(a gifted writer and artist) went to see at The Santa Barbara Film Festival. It is so moving and beautiful and I am posting it below, but I want to caution you that it deals with child loss. I am so stinking proud of Kathryn. She is as kind and talented as she is beautiful, and that is saying a lot.

I will be doing some in-person events when the book publishes, so please let me know what city you’d like me to visit and who you’d love to see me in conversation with. Henry (Czerny) and I will be in conversation at Vroman’s in Pasadena and Shannon watts, my buddy who also has a book coming out this summer called Fired Up (June 17th) and I will be doing an event, so stay tuned. Pre-order her book below. I have others but you’ll have to wait and see….

I gave a TED talk, here in Ojai at the Ojai Playhouse! TEDx Ojai is now a thing. I cannot wait for you to see it when it’s up online. It was called NOTHING YOU DO IS WRONG.

The gist was as follows:

The Inner Asshole.

Who doesn’t have one?

You might call it something else: Inner Critic, Saboteur, Perfectionist. Roger. But we all have one.

I was going to say Inner Bully to keep it G rated but, you know, my son has heard me swear more times than he’s seen me make a bed or cook a chicken (I’ve never cooked a chicken.)

The degree of influence it has over us varies.

A litmus test: notice how it feels I say the following: NOTHING YOU DO IS WRONG.

If alarm bells go off, if it registers as a lie, like Yea right weird lady whatever, that’s your Inner Asshole.

It’s a liar.

Its lies might feel kind of sort of maybe at first, then definitely true. Eventually: inarguable facts.

A conversation between me and mine.

IA: Don’t you mean everything you do is wrong?

Then what do you call:

· causing your father die when you were 8?

· Dropping out of NYU with 1 year left?

· That 14 year “summer” restaurant job during your “semester” off (that’s still going on)?

· Mishearing every word, even with hearing aids?

· Having a baby at 41? Publishing your first book at 44?

· Leaving your fine marriage? Who gets to leave fine?

· Choosing yourself? Who gets to do that?

· Staying up all night bingeing all of Slow Horses and eating all the salt and vinegar chips?

WRONG! Everything you do is wrong.

Me: Listen up, Bucko. There’s no Universal timeline we have to adhere to.

No one is too late. Too old. Too anything. The Imaginary Time Gods aren’t real!

I no longer simply obey.

Nothing you do is wrong.

IA: Oh yea? Prove it.

In the past, I would’ve tried.

I’d search for the impossible:

something to show as evidence that I deserve to be here.

See what I have to show for myself? (Like the terrible fake id I had in NJ the 90’s that someone made it in their mom’s basement.)

My ALLOW tattoo reminds that I don’t have to show for anything. I just need to allow myself.

A miracle occurred when, despite all the reasons it could NEVER WORK- it worked and I bought a house. This one day, I was out in my hammock and I was just… happy.

Suddenly: You don’t get to be happy.

Me: I know.

But then, Oh, Hell No. FROM MY MOUTH: I GET TO HAVE THIS.

This meaning happiness.

I got stickies, scribbled I GET TO HAVE THIS, and stuck them around my house.

Constant little reminders that I’m not getting away with something by experiencing joy.

As long as you aren’t hurting anyone else, or yourself, I say: use whatever works to support you in being your magical, weird, wonderful self, without apology.

If it’s sticky notes, so be it. They’re my version of Power Points.

Welcome To The School Of Whatever Works- where you get to live life on your own terms.

Much to the chagrin of my Inner Asshole, I used my education from The School Of Whatever Works and built a magical, weird, and wonderful AND unlikely career. Based on listening. As a deaf person.

So don’t tell me what I do and do not get to have, Sir Inner Asshole.

We don’t have to remain stuck in where we once were. Or to what we once thought. We’re like stickies in that way.

Also we never have to show proof that we deserve to take up space, no matter what anyone says. Including your Inner Asshole or Inner Roger, or outer Roger, for that matter.

I recently took my son, Charlie Mel to Disneyland for his 8^th birthday.

My dad Mel was my best friend.

One night, when I was 8 he says Have you seen my cigarettes?

He smoked 4 packs of Kools. A day. I flushed them down the toilet. Oh, he also happened to be a drug addict.

He said You’re being bad and making me not feel good.

I said: I hate you.

The last words ever said to him.

You are being bad he said. I heard you ARE bad.

Just like that, an Inner Bully is born.

We cannot believe everything we think.

I thought it was my fault he died.

I thought I thought I thought.

I am bad I am bad I am bad became my constant companion.

If my 8 year old had that as his inner monologue, it would break my heart.

I’d been breaking my own a long long time.

I’d been waiting for someone to give me permission to stop being hard on myself.

No one did.

So, I carried on.

Until, l I finally saw myself as an 8 year old. By seeing my son.

I was also just an innocent little kid, who didn’t do anything wrong or bad?

It was the first time I’d EVER allowed tenderness in, or saw myself with any kind of softness. Ever.

Like I said: Never. Too. Late.

I’ll stay soft right even though I want to Go Now! Run! Exit Stage Right! Hide!

I’ll share instead. I’ll practice what I preach and embody Shame Loss.

I shall not hide in shame.

There is such power in giving ourselves permission to name a thing, such grace in allowing ourselves to not be defined by that naming.

So, I’ll name it. Like my beloved father- whose heart gave out- not from my badness, but from his own self-abuse-I am an addict.

To leaving my body, to self-medicating. To alcohol.

This isn’t a new revelation. I just never ever said it aloud. Then I’d have to do something about it and I didn’t want to.

I wanted someone to make me.

Man, old habits die hard.

Last week, my son came up to me. He handed me 2 roses.

For the best mommy in the world.

He placed his hands on my shoulders, looked me square in the eye, and then, apropos of nothing, said: Nothing you do is wrong.

I started to cry. (A new capability.)

Nothing you do is wrong.

There it was. Not just my title (thanks Charlie) but what I’d been waiting for my whole life.

I’d call myself a dirty rotten liar had I said it.

What if I believe him?

I do.

What a gift he gave me. And now, I’m passing it on to you.

I got you. Another one of my tattoos.

Nothing you do is wrong.

What if you believed me?

Isn’t it amazing to be reminded who we are, from those we really see us?

May we remember. And when we don’t, may we have those around us who do.

I’m done believing everything I think. I did not THINK I could. But I did. I stopped drinking,

Because I’m not done with living.

Only with waiting to.

You don’t need permission to live a life that lights you up.

And I’m not talking about “getting through” on auto-auto-pilot or following some Ding Dong’s Bible of Should.

No one can give it to you anyway. Permission.

Those years I worked at the restaurant? I said I wanted to be an actor. So, I waited at the host stand for someone to discover me.

No one discovered me.

I didn’t want to be discovered though. I wanted someone to save me. To tell me it was going to be okay. To give me permission to stop hating myself.

To give me a medal- because even though I said I don’t care and never let myself cry it still felt like I was going to die when my dad died, and I didn’t. So where’s my medal?

In one of my workshops once, I was doing my give yourself a medal exercise, where I say you know, no one is gonna give you a medal- and this beautiful woman recites what she’s giving herself one for- showing up and surviving and all these great things. She’s finishes, then goes, Oh yea, and I won 3 gold medals in the Olympics.

Hi, Tianna.

Barring that, no one’s going to give you a medal for:

· flossing

· getting out of bed when you’re depressed, (points to self)

· leaving your: marriage, job, political party, old beliefs

· choosing to be child free, choosing yourself

· telling the truth

· not hiding in shame

We can spend our lives waiting. Even if what we’re waiting for shows up, we can miss it. If we don’t believe we get to have it, we won’t even see it, even when it’s right there. It’s right here.

What’s your THIS?

And it’s not I get to have THIS because I’m more worthy than you.

What does your Inner Asshole say you don’t get to have? Whatever it tells you you don’t get to have is a lie. That’s your this.

Is it:

· Rest

· ease

· joy

· reciprocity

· fulfillment

· partnership

· writing,

· being creative

· being able sitting on the toilet in peace, without any interruption

It is NOT your birthright to

· feel bad

· carry what’s not yours

· live in shame

· have everything ALWAYS. BE. HARD.

Your birthright is not stress.

Who deserves such a miracle?

All of us. And we get to decide what a miracle is.

There’s nothing we can “show.” Because guess what?

The magical, weird, and wonderful things that make us, us?

They are invisible. How’s that for a miracle?

In the poem, my son says: We’re flying, look!

What if we did? But with softness?

Like: Instead of a good hard look, we took a good soft look, at ourselves?

Even if it sounds eye-rolly or gross like get that bug off me.

Look: It’s a ladybug and you deserve luck as much as Jerry on Sled 7.

You get to have whatever you’ve denied yourself. And the salt and vinegar chips. If you want.

And you need no proof that you deserve any of it.

You do have to become your own permission slip though,

as well as giving yourself the “proverbial” medal.

Put it around your weird, magical and wonderful neck.

For all the reasons. Or none.

You don’t need any reasons.

You are your own proof of life.

Nothing you do-nothing you are-is wrong.

Oh, what we’ll do when we’re finally done waiting.

So, now what?

What will you do?

---

Those are not rhetorical questions.

---

I made this post free. I owe you all at least that much. But please, if you can, would you consider becoming a paid subscriber or founding member? It would mean the world. You can also donate or gift a subscription. Or, if money is a thing and you really really want to be a paid member- just reach out. Just reach out, friend.

I swear on all things sacred I am back. I am here for consistency and keeping my word. I will send a note out asap with free offerings and perks for pre-orders as well as things you’ll get for being a paid member. I am also starting a podcast called…. THE SCHOOL OF WHATEVER WORKS.

1. Why do I always set myself up for failure? How can I make this email better than sex? I will offer you a smoke? Nah. I will offer you a free workshop if you preorder my book and a hug just because. No proof of purchase necessary.