Dear Somebody: It's publication day!

Hi, friends.

I’m sending out a special note today because it’s publication day for How it Feels to Find Yourself!

This book is a hard won piece of my heart. I wrote the proposal and sold the book to my publisher during my first, extremely difficult pregnancy, while isolated on our farm in Nashville during the beginning of the pandemic. I then wrote the book, while still isolated on our farm, throughout the pandemic—this time with a tiny, crying newborn by my side.

The various sunrises I captured from our Nashville farm, while writing before the baby (and the world) woke.

I often woke up at 4:30 am to write in the darkness before the baby woke, watching the sun creep up over the tree line. I wrote in the bathroom, my laptop balanced on the vanity, wearing the baby while the exhaust fan hummed her to sleep. I wrote in a room full of unpacked boxes and utter debris during our move from Nashville to St. Louis, desperate to finish the manuscript before beginning my first semester of graduate school—which I was unable to do. I wrote the book in the mornings before and the evenings after class, while T took N to the zoo or the playground. I wrote on the weekends, around my homework and N’s nap schedule, wishing I had a little less on my plate. Like all good things, the writing in this book grew from a combination of determination, persistence, many tears, and a lot of support. 

I could not have written this book without my husband, T, who helped make it a priority for me to write, even when it came at the cost of his own work and ambition. I could not have written this book without my parents, who put their lives on hold to live mine with me throughout graduate school. I could not have written this book without N, who was with me first in my belly and then in my arms, and about whom so many of these essays are written. 

Early mornings with N on the farm, after I’d spend a few hours writing while she slept.

Purchase HOW IT FEELS TO FIND YOURSELF

“The book that we all need…It reminds us that regardless of the day we’ve experienced, we are still beautifully and devastatingly hopeful and human.”

–Cyndie Spiegal, best-selling author of Microjoys

HOW IT FEELS TO FIND YOURSELF is a collection of paint palettes and short essays. Together, they work harmoniously in offering guidance for navigating the most important relationship in our lives: the one we have with ourselves. The book is full of thoughtful reflections on parenthood, friendship, love (for others and ourselves), family dynamics, and the larger questions we carry about finding our place in the world. Each essay is accompanied by a vibrant paint palette designed to help you find your way through the moment you’re in. 

If you enjoy reading this newsletter, this book is for you.

Purchase HOW IT FEELS TO FIND YOURSELF

Because of the year I’ve had (pregnancy, graduate school, and now a newborn), I’ve decided not to commit to my usual book events, interviews, or in-person signings. Instead, I’m hoping those of you who are really interested in my work will choose to support this book—and I hope that it will help you find a part of yourself that’s been hidden.

Here’s how you can support How it Feels to Find Yourself:

• Order a copy (or like, five) of How it Feels to Find Yourself

• Forward this newsletter to someone who will appreciate this book!

• Ask your local library to carry the book if you can’t afford to purchase it—knowing that your entire neighborhood will now have access to it!

• Ask your local bookstore to carry the book. I love local bookstores and want to support them as much as possible throughout this launch. 

• Write a review on Amazon so more people can find this book

• If you want to review or write about How it Feels to Find Yourself (or know someone who might), feature it in your publication/podcast/etc., or interview me — just reply to this email to reach me. Every little bit helps.

Purchase HOW IT FEELS TO FIND YOURSELF

THANK YOU for reading and for all of your support and encouragement. It means the world to me. 

See you on Friday with a new edition of Dear Somebody, where I’ll go a little bit deeper into the making of this book.

xx,

M

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Dear Somebody: The moonlight is here

A sketch of me and baby Frida in the hospital. 

On April 21, we welcomed Frida Iyla into the world. Frida means peace in Old High German and Iyla is based on the Turkish Ayla, for moonlight.

Writing this newsletter weekly is important to me, but if needed, I’ll take some time away from the world to care for myself and my family. I have no schedule or particular ambitions; I’m planning on taking it exactly one day at a time. 

A year from now, here are five things from this week that I'd like to remember:

MONDAY

It’s no surprise that I admire Frida Kahlo as a woman and artist; as a human, she has the enviable ability to embrace her strangeness, her differences, and to find strength in them. As I learn more about her life, I am stunned by her endurance, determination, and ability to find romance—that is, beauty and value—in even the most treacherous moments of her life. 

My favorite words by her are below:

“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me, too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you.”

—Frida Kahlo

TUESDAY

My experience with birth the second time has been vastly different from the first, and a positive reminder that the past does not have to be indicative of the future. 

What do I want to remember most? 

• The way I was cared for by my surgeon, my doctors, my nurses, my husband, my daughter, and my family. The friends and classmates who’ve called and comforted. The editors who have stretched deadlines, the cohort who has taken on my Thesis installation, the publishing team who has taken on more work in my absence.

• The humanity of those that gave a little of themselves to me and my family, though we were perfect strangers—during many moments of great vulnerability over the past week.

• A never-before-felt grace towards my body, which always tries to care for me, and endures far more than I ever give it credit for. A promise to give you rest. 

• The joy of experiencing motherhood with a lot more patience, a lot less anxiety, and priorities—and a perspective—that suits my values, my needs, and the life I want for myself. 

• The sweetness of you, my little Frida, who has brought out such unexpected, dormant sweetness in me. At six days old, you have already changed me.

WEDNESDAY

“When things go well, it is easy to celebrate our bodies. But when things go poorly, or not how we imagined, it becomes much harder. I could look back and think about the ways my body disappointed me—and I did, a few times. But whenever I went down that road, I found that it was a dead-end street that made me feel terrible. Hating my body remains a waste of time. At some point, just for the purpose of survival, I chose, deliberately, to focus on all the things my body did right, what it did so well on my behalf. Everything it tried to do.”

—Like a Mother: A Feminist Journey Through the Science and Culture of Pregnancy by Angela Garbes

THURSDAY

Frida’s childhood home in Mexico City, Casa Azul, was turned into the Frida Kahlo Museum in 1958. I’d love to visit one day — many of her paintings are still on display, including Viva la Vida, her final work. In true Frida fashion, she remains in the house as well: an urn containing her ashes lives in her bedroom.

Below are a few of my favorite paintings by Frida:

The Two Fridas

The Wounded Deer

Self-Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird

Thinking About Death

FRIDAY

I’m your guide here. In the evening-dark
morning streets, I point and name.
Look, the sycamores, their mottled,
paint-by-number bark. Look, the leaves
rusting and crisping at the edges.
I walk through Schiller Park with you
on my chest. Stars smolder well
into daylight. Look, the pond, the ducks,
the dogs paddling after their prized sticks.
Fall is when the only things you know
because I’ve named them
begin to end. Soon I’ll have another
season to offer you: frost soft
on the window and a porthole
sighed there, ice sleeving the bare
gray branches. The first time you see
something die, you won’t know it might
come back. I’m desperate for you
to love the world because I brought you here.

—First Fall by Maggie Smith

xx,

M

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Dear Somebody: Preserving the humanity in our work.

A year from now, here are five things from this week that I'd like to remember:

MONDAY

Last week, Dan Blank asked me why I decided to make elegy/a crow/Ba into an accordion book. He wanted to know why I would spend precious time gluing and assembling 50 accordion books when I’m: 9 months pregnant; in the middle of writing my Master’s thesis; finishing my Master’s thesis project—my first picture book pitch; promoting my upcoming book of illustrated essays; preparing for baby’s arrival in 4 weeks; and, you know, keeping atop of my regular work load, toddler, and home life. 

So why am I gluing and assembling and folding and mailing? The answer is that I've been trying to figure out how to get back to myself for a long time now. I want to pay attention to the artist and the creativity in me, which has taken a back seat to the business of being a brand and artist. As I told Dan: This accordion book brings a lot of humanity back to the art I'm interested in making. This book isn’t about making money or sales or generating publicity — it’s simply about writing a story from the heart and putting it out into the world to connect with others. 

For our full conversation and more of Dan’s thoughts on the power of handcrafted, read the latest edition of his newsletter here. 

TUESDAY

A song: One of my favorite covers is M. Ward’s take on David Bowie’s Let’s Dance — on repeat in my studio these days as I draw, draw, draw.

A picture: I recently bought this print for N’s room from Anna Cunha’s shop. Her work is poignant and pure, often capturing the simplicity of childhood and living with the land. I was surprised to learn that her gorgeously textured work is mostly illustrated digitally. 

A book: I’m almost finished with María Hesse’s illustrated biography of Frida Kahlo, which is devastating, mournful, and, of course, beautiful. 

WEDNESDAY

An excerpt from Before and After the Book Deal that really hit home this week, as I do what feels like even less for my family and home, while juggling a million other things and preparing to give birth:

“I feel badly that my daughter feels bad about me missing today’s performance, but I don’t feel guilty. It took me decades to be able to live off my own creative writing, and in those decades I learned that I have to fight tooth and nail to defend not just my writing time, but my identity as a writer, because most people will want/need me to do something other than my art. From the minute I was presented with my long-legged, super sucker newborn, I realized that I now had the world’s most precious time suck in my arms. There would be no end to this baby’s needs, no end to the things she would want from me, expect from me, forget at school and need. Nina gives me a hard time about it, but I refuse to hide how important my career is to me. In the domestic framework I’ve set up and continue to fight for, my writing and my daughter are both tied for first.

But getting my daughter to understand that this framework is built from love and respect is a long, long game indeed. I believe if I model the example of a working creative who defends her time, sets boundaries, and is honest about what she wants and doesn’t want, then long-term, my daughter won’t be trampled by people who want to take and take from her, ask for favors that turn into unpaid labor, see her negotiating like a lamb when she should be negotiating like a lion. This will probably take two decades, or maybe it will take my own daughter one day having children to realize the values I’m trying to impart. Or maybe it won’t work.”

—from Can You Be a Good Mom and a Great Writer? by Courtney Maum

THURSDAY

The world has graced us with the most excellent weather this week—warm breezes and open windows, too early yet for mosquitos or sweat. We’ve gone on many walks, watched the grackles bathe in the alleyway puddles, filled the hummingbird feeder with simple syrup, and did lots of laundry. 

N wore her yellow dress with flowers for the first time this spring and looked like a doll from somebody else’s drawing. I didn’t take a picture but I’m writing it here, now, to remember.

FRIDAY

in the dream of foxes
there is a field
and a procession of women
clean as good children
no hollow in the world
surrounded by dogs
no fur clumped bloody
on the ground
only a lovely time
of honest women stepping
without fear or guilt or shame
safe through the generous fields.

—A Dream of Foxes by Lucille Clifton

xx,

M

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