A confession

It’s been five years—

Today is Val Thinks’ fifth anniversary, and I have a confession.

I haven’t been honest with you.

For five years, through these missives I have made you hold my grief, my fear, my anger. You have literally kept me sane.

And you deserve the truth.

When I started writing this newsletter, I was lazy. Instead of sifting through all the words I’ve ever known for the ones that spoke my mind, I opted for ready platitudes and humour. A slapdash approximation of what I wanted to say.

But then, as was inevitable when you do something for long enough, I realised I wasn’t as good a writer as I thought. I now wanted to improve, and that meant not settling. I would spend days, and nights, trawling my mind for the words that accurately expressed my thoughts and feelings.

I couldn’t find them.

I had the will, and discipline, to be honest. But not the vocabulary.

In this stage I was stuck for years, a stranger to my inner world, my writing ever better yet never surfacing anything of note. Whole chapters of my life summarised in neat sentences that didn’t actually say what happened.

Then I started therapy.

You know how that goes.

Suddenly all I had were words. Words for all the thoughts and feelings that for decades had been suppressed so I could be a happy, functioning human. Words that were constantly resounding in my head but felt too inflammatory to speak.

So I started censoring myself. And this is where I’ve truly failed you. Not because I was lazy or incompetent as before, but because I’m intentionally holding back. Revealing just enough to make a point. A curated journey of my inner world.

I told myself this was for a good cause. I didn’t want to hurt people I cared about. The redactions well-meaning white lies.

But this reason is also dishonest. I’m not holding back because I care about these people. I’m holding back because I care about myself and what others—my family, my friends, my colleagues, my readers—what you think of me.

Years ago, I first heard the phrase “Every writer is waiting for someone to die.” At the time I thought it an exaggeration. But now I find it to be true.

The story of my life may be mine to tell, but it’s impossible to tell it fully, honestly without implicating others in the telling.

If I weren’t a writer, I might choose silence. Carry these secrets to my grave.

But I am a writer. This is the choice I make. I started Val Thinks so I could have the space—my space—to become the writer I want to be.

And the writer I want to be isn’t one who dances around the truth because she’s afraid of the fallout.

So this is my confession. And a promise:

No more hiding. From today, I am going to say exactly what I want to say.

See you next Friday… I’m terrified what you’ll think, but I’ll send it anyway,

Val