On ambition, trauma and how we define success
Another learning from The Artist’s Way: the need for safety
Thank you for reading Beyond Survival, a publication about life after trauma. This edition is about The Artist’s Way and how childhood sexual violence impacted my career.
Earlier this year, I restarted my LinkedIn account. I had one years ago, but deleted it after I quit my last, toxic non-profit job. When I returned to the platform, I went back through the various jobs I’d worked and added former colleagues and friends. I saw how successful some of them are now. I saw senior leadership roles in big firms and impactful governmental positions. These people had spent the last decade upskilling and sitting on boards and vaulting up career ladders. I imagined the paychecks that came with those fancy titles, and the nice houses they’d buy1.
My younger self would be horrified to know that I am 36 and still haven’t published a book. I don’t have an agent or any fancy credentials. My writing career consists of this newsletter, plus freelancing and various book projects which might be published one day or might be tossed on my teeming compost heap. I love my work and am deeply fulfilled by it, but it’s not (yet!) financially successful2. Building this career is often an uphill slog, punctuated with rejection and tumbleweed silence from editors who aren't interested in survivor’s voices.
I remember reading, in The Courage to Heal, that when you’re trying to recover from childhood sexual trauma you need to let go of the timeline you had for your life. You can’t expect yourself to live at the same pace as your peers. I refused to accept that, immersing myself in my work to hide from my trauma. It’ll be no surprise to you that this approach didn’t work or that I subconsciously choose work that further exacerbated my trauma.
When that career collapsed around me, I found myself at a hinge moment in life. I didn’t know it at the time. Back then, I felt like the shreds of a person, crying constantly and unable to leave my apartment. But it was the start of something. I decided to take all of the energy and ambition I’d previously devoted to my career and spend it on my recovery instead. I didn’t work for six months, and then took a boring, well-paid job I was overqualified for. Work was dull and pointless, but it left lots of space for me to rebuild my life.
That decision paid off. I have a beautiful life. I have a wonderful partner, a safe and cozy home, and a vibrant community of friends. I am healthy. I run a few times a week, something I love but couldn’t do when PTSD was raging through my body. I still have nightmares occasionally3, but usually sleep peacefully through the night. I cook elaborate meals, read great books, stretch everyday, am learning Italian and love to travel. Whatever “success” I sacrificed, I’ve more than made up for it in joy.
One of my takeaways from The Artist’s Way4 has been the importance of creating a sense of safety to enable creative work. It has helped me reframe all the years I spent writing to survive but feeling unable to publish anything. The 100,000+ words towards a memoir, the 80,000+ word novel and the 20+ years of journals were all for something. The work exists. It hasn’t been published and maybe never will be, but it got me from there to here.
I reestablished my LinkedIn profile because I’m ready to step back into the professional arena. My ambition has returned, and I’m eager to grow this community, work with editors and stretch myself creatively.
Do I wish I could have done it sooner? Yes, absolutely.
Do I worry that I might die before I get to publish my book? All the time, likely because my mother died before she got to bring her dreams to life.
Was there any other way I could have done it? I don’t think so. After a very insecure childhood, I needed to establish a secure adulthood before I could do my best creative work.
I still sometimes envy the flashy jobs. I want a satisfying ladder of career progression, an office with a door and a pension plan5. But I’m trying to honour the wisdom of my choices. It wasn’t that I was lazy or unfocused or that I didn’t “want it enough”. I was taking my time. I was working quietly behind the scenes, beavering away to figure out what I wanted to say. I was learning how to write and what kind of career I wanted to build.
It’s hard to regret the hundreds of thousands of words written privately, which were never published but which kept me alive. The dream that I might write a great book one day kept me going. I had to survive long enough to do my work.
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Beyond Survival is written by me, Clare Egan, an award-winning writer and journalist. You can read more about me here, or look at some pretty pictures over here. Click reply to say hello anytime. Thank you for being here!
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Two nightmares since I last published, likely because I wrote about sexual trauma on a very tight deadline.
I also know what it would have cost to get those things. I couldn’t continue in an environment where senior colleagues turned the other way when women were sexually harassed.
So true. I’m on a similar journey and I also realized there is a no short cut! True healing takes time and real work.
This was really beautiful, and also a helpful reminder. Thank you.