Along with 1,000 contributing writers, I belong to a Facebook group for Her View From Home, a national blog with close to one million followers on Facebook that publishes stories written by women. It is the most supportive, encouraging and enlightening group I’ve ever been a part of, a sentiment shared daily by the hundreds of my Her View From Home compadres who actively post, share—and celebrate—their work, and engage within the group. 

A couple of weeks ago, one of the members wrote a long post about how disappointed she was with the Her View From Home platform and writers group—she felt the editors had “obvious” favorites who she noticed being published more often than she was. She was disappointed that her most recent story had been shared thousands of times (35,000+) in the first two days, and then it quickly plateaued which made her suspicious of the inner workings of the online community. She said she knew she was different, her writing and thinking weren’t mainstream, and that she didn’t write to be popular, but to make people think. There were condescending and derogatory comments woven into the nearly 20 paragraph post which ended with her thanking everyone for ending her writing career—she was deleting her blog and all social media accounts associated with her writing. She would never write another word thanks to the platform and the group of authors who had never reached out to her or included her in group discussions. 

I read every word, and then I went to her last published piece and read that, too. It was beautifully written—the pain within it, visceral. I regretted having missed her words until then. As with most of us, I’m hanging on by a thin thread most days as I swing in and out of the many roles I play in life. With 1,000 writers in that group—and not as much discretionary time as it takes to keep up with it all—I miss some things. 

Fueled by a rush of empathetic energy—because I hated the idea of her sitting in that tangle of turmoil for any longer than she already had, or the thought of her venomous righteousness setting within her soul—I commented to let her know I heard her and I saw her. I reminded her that her words mattered, with or without the feedback of others, because she mattered, with or without the feedback of others. And if she felt compelled to write her guts out like that, it was definitely something she needed to release, and the world needed to hear. 

That’s the thing with writers—we write because we must. It’s the journey of that emotional processing and creation that allows us to move on to the next level of our lives or the next moment. We free ourselves up a bit from the burdens of our own minds. 

One thing that has made me resilient in the mad existence of sharing my own blood upon the page, has been to ensure my work can stand on its own two feet when I set it free into the world, so I don’t end up like an emotional leaf in the wind when it comes to the responses to it. Even when it’s something so deeply personal and seemingly cutting, I know it’s its own beast and I can kiss it goodbye as it heads out the door of my soul and into the hands and minds of the world (or a few readers). Fortunately, life is full enough I can quickly get to work on the next darling little beast so as not to be paralyzed worrying about the last.

So, I wasn’t the only one from the Her View From Home team whose inclination was to respond kindly, gracefully, lovingly. Although any one of us could have been offended by the bucket of arsenal she had fired off to the group that day—and responded with our own emotional missiles—hundreds of comments flooded that thread, filled with every brilliant word and effort to lift her up, hold her up. In a beautiful and important act of humanity, we could see her pain above and beyond her response to it. Vitriol cannot be tempered with vitriol, after all—it is best absorbed by tenderness. 

The fellow writer who shared her pain was, indeed, different. If we are doing life right, we are all  magnificently different. Nature has a way of knowing—and growing—in a direction that makes what already exists better, stronger, mightier, and more inspiring. There is no “normal,” there is no “same.” Each one of us is equipped in our own ways to enhance the whole of us all. The will of nature and the universe is progression, and progression in a species isn’t found when we are slaying or reacting to one another. Of course, there are unfortunate glitches and temptations that pop up along the way, but resist being lured in by them. No matter how maddening someone’s words or actions may feel, no matter how different they may seem from you, I challenge you to work to see the person—and, possibly, the pain—behind their words, actions and, well, existence. If you are living as freely and truly as yourself as possible—and facing and processing your own pain as it shows itself—you’ll be far less reactive and far more understanding, accepting and tender toward those around you, no matter their who or why or what or when. You’ll be part of what unites us, and drives us forward, together. And I thank you for that.  

We are Spokane Coeur d’Alene Living, and we are Spokane and Coeur d’Alene. Please find me on Facebook and Instagram—and hop over to “like” the Spokane Coeur d’Alene Living pages—to stay connected between press dates, and share your thoughts, stories, and life in real time.

To tenderness,

Stephanie Regalado 

stephanie@spokanecda.com