Hello beloved readers,

Did you know that Amelia Earhart wanted an open marriage, that Charlie Chaplin tapped into universal emotions to find humor, and that James Baldwin understood firsthand that suffering comes when we push back against reality? 

These pieces and so much more are waiting for you on the HTL website.

Missed a newsletter? Find it here.

Wanna check out the entire archive? It’s here for you to access and use whenever you need it.

If you know another human who is looking for insight, or having a tough time navigating their emotions, share this newsletter with them so they know they’re not alone.

xx, Amanda

MY LONG-TERM VISION OF HOW TO LIVE

I began the How to Live newsletter because I wanted to offer what I longed to find when I needed it most: a central, reliable, place that offered answers, options, ideas, and insights to questions I didn’t quite have the vocabulary to formulate.

The information I needed was almost always locked behind prohibitive paywalls, keeping out the people who would most benefit.

I want to build that place I once searched for, and I want it to be FREE because every person deserves access to the resources they need to live a healthy and self-sufficient life.

With your support, I can build an essential place, a free searchable library of emotions, and a living dictionary of complicated feelings.

Your recurring monthly contribution or generous one-time gift will help me realize this vision. Thank you for helping me fill this yawning gap in the mental health space.

And for those of you who are regular donors, THANK YOU. You are making a difference.

Today, I’m GETTING GRATITUDINAL…

I’ve been sick since early November.

In early April, I’ll be undergoing some deeper medical testing, and I should (hopefully) know what’s going on, but until then I just have to wait.

Not knowing what is wrong, but understanding that I could have something really scary, is difficult. Living with uncertainty is no easy feat for anyone, but especially for a person with anxiety. This is why it’s been so surprising to discover how well I’ve been handling the not knowing.

And I think it has to do with you, readers, and this newsletter.

So this is a gratitude post.

I’ve been writing this newsletter since September 2021.

I’ve never missed a week.

Having to be held accountable to an audience helps.

But, I also feel deeply committed to writing this newsletter—it fills me with a deep and critical purpose. I love researching and reading and thinking and talking and writing about psychology, psychological methods, mental health, and its pioneers.

The process of doing so for a year and a half has made me a stronger person. I’ve gotten better at confronting and feeling hard things because in order to write about hard things, and no matter how familiar I am with a theory or practice, having to explain it, and break it down, deepens my understanding—and I need to understand them.

Without you, there’d be no newsletter.

Without the newsletter, I wouldn’t feel this sense of purpose, and I know I wouldn’t feel quite as capable of living through one long terrible month waiting for a test that will reveal and explain why I’ve been so sick for the past four months.

I launched How to Live with the intention that the insights and learnings I’ve gained from a lifetime of grappling with a mental health issue would help others—friends and strangers alike.

This is why I wrote my memoir Little Panic. I want to offer hope for those suffering as I have, who live with mental anguish, who feel misunderstood, or invisible, broken, defective like they’re not enough, and a million other things, the solace that they are not alone and provide some practical tools.

The world silences people in emotional pain, and without hearing the pain that others experience, people feel alone and ashamed of their feelings.

What I did not anticipate in writing my book and this newsletter was that readers would do the same thing for me.

I did not expect that you would write to me and share your stories, your vulnerabilities, and your pain.

You have offered me solace and assured me that I, too, am not alone.

I want to thank you for this.

I want to thank you for believing in me and this newsletter.

You understand that being open about mental anguish is critical; that facing difficult feelings takes strength, and that avoiding hard emotions is easier than facing them in the short term.

I want to face my fears, and I want you to face yours because I know firsthand that we often and unnecessarily prolong our fears by avoiding things that would be resolved so quickly if we would just summon the courage to face them. The longer we avoid facing what scares us, the longer we put our lives on hold.

I put my life on hold for far too long because I was afraid. I’m still afraid, but now I do it anyway.

And part of that has to do with you.

To those who believe in this newsletter and in me enough to donate so that I can continue doing this work—I bow in gratitude.

I’m gobsmacked that one of my favorite musicians is a subscriber; so is an artist whose work I’ve long adored. There are also two filmmakers whose work I’ve cherished for eons; writers I admire; actors whose TV shows I’ve watched, therapists and specialists who send me notes letting me know they forward articles on to their patients; my friends, family members, and so many other readers.

Thank you for reading my work, supporting it, championing me, and for sending me notes. I rely on your support, and I love when you email me.

Thank you for being a part of this community, and for coming along for the ride.

It means so much to me.

I want to thank someone else, someone who cannot read—because she is a dog.

Her name was once “Penny.” This was her Petfinder photo:

It was not love at first sight. I wasn’t even certain I’d keep her. But at the end of the two-week trial, it was clear that the dog I’d rename Busy would be my forever companion.

The act of adopting a dog, when I was grappling with the decision of whether or not to have a baby on my own, shocked me.

You see, I come from a generational stock of highly allergic people. Nearly every member of my family suffers from one allergy or another: cats, dogs, horses, pollen, grass, trees, mold, and dairy. My biggest allergy is dust, which means all surfaces and materials if they haven’t been wiped down and washed frequently.

Sadly, this includes the fabric of the universe, which, to the best of my knowledge, has never been laundered or dry-cleaned.

Which is to say, I didn’t grow up with pets.

We made a good effort though.

We brought in some stray cats until it was clear that my older sister Kara was too allergic to them for us to keep them. My mother didn’t like dogs, so that was out. I had a goldfish that a creepy babysitter ate (yes, while it was alive!) and a hamster that died under mysterious circumstances, and for which no one ever stood trial.

Somewhere along the way, I began to think of myself as a person who didn’t like animals. The dander from cats caused my eyes to itch and water until I couldn’t see, and caused skin rashes and a scratchy throat. Cats became felina-non-grata. Dogs were fine, so long as they stayed away from me. My stepmother had a dog who bit my face when I was little, so … fuck dogs.

But while working on the book that would become Little Panic: Dispatches From an Anxious Life, I began to stroll the online aisles of Petfinder.

The next thing I knew, a black-and-white dog and I were staring at each other in the back of a cab.

“Hello, new roommate,” I said.

She threw up onto my lap.

We now travel with Dramamine.

While it did take a bit of time for us to become bonded, we have since overcompensated by becoming so bonded that we are practically in sync.

Busy didn’t save my life, and I didn’t save hers, but her existence in my world filled a hole I thought only a person could.

People often say how hard it is to have a dog; that it’s so much responsibility. But having someone else to tend to and take care of besides me fills me with a sense of purpose and it is why having a dog is so wonderful—it makes me happy.

Monday was my birthday, and for me, it serves as a reminder to be consciously grateful to those who make my life eminently better.

Busy is one such companion. She is loving, sweet, funny, happy, and playful, and her stand-up act is savage. She understands me, and I understand her.

Every day she models patience as she waits on the bed while I gather things in preparation to go outside. Inevitably, I forget something and have to turn around and go back into the apartment. Busy is so used to this that she now just remains on the bed. She somehow knows—even when I’ve called to let her know I’m ready—that I’m not actually ready. She knows when I have all my crap together, and comes bounding off the bed.

Busy and I love each other so hard that I haven’t applied to a writers residency in almost ten years because I can’t bear to be without her for that long.

So I’ve stayed, and when I do have to travel, I take her with me as often as I can.

Busy gives love so freely and openly that when someone isn’t interested in petting her, she gives a little cry. Plus, she loves babies.

What’s especially great about her is that she never bears a grudge—she’ll shake it off and move on.

She faces her fears every day. When we have to go down steep stairs, when the UPS guy comes, when plastic bag flaps in the wind, when someone slams their car trunk closed when I drop something—after every single faced fear, she knows that she can shake off the trauma.

Taking care of this loving little being has made me a better person—and showing up for you, week after week, has made me a stronger one.

This year, on my birthday, I give thanks to this dog partner of mine, and to you, dear readers, for helping me get better at feeling hard things.

xx, Amanda

Amanda

📬️ Email me if you have questions, comments, or topic ideas! [email protected]

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