Memoirs to You

Self-portrait with Military Man

I’m starting this story in the middle. Sorta. Some of you know these things. Some of you don’t. I’ll fill them out more, if you have questions.

I’ve become more reticent to open up about any given topic after the experiences I had writing and working on behalf of people with student loan debt, the majority of that collection of work is at All Education Matters (AEM), which was a non-profit I ran for many years in the mid-2000s. While doing that work, things at one point got so bad that I was stalked offline, and, simultaneously, a publicist I had at one point even - mistakenly and carelessly - exposed my private mailing address. (I had to go to the local police to try and file a report about the incident but I wasn’t able to get all that far since the stalker was out-of-state).

So, not surprisingly, I’ve been left with a lot of trauma from that experience. In fact, it drove me to leave the cause all together, as I had been a driving leader of change for the movement to relieve people of student loan debt when absolutely no one else - aside from a few other solo voices - was talking about it.

That’s, however, changing here in these following posts. As the best writing, at least when it’s about our subjective experiences, is when it reveals us at our most vulnerable and introspective. I’m also keenly aware that my readership on this substack is quite small, whereas AEM had a massive audience, plus I was getting television and radio interviews, which meant anytime I went live for one of those talks, my blog (as well as my twitter feed) would be inundated with people (almost always men) calling me a “c*nt,” “b*tch,” “wh*re,” and even worse! For years, I put up with it, determined to continue fighting on behalf of people who sorely needed a voice. But once I found myself going through a divorce, struggling to write my first book, broke, and extremely ill, I simply didn’t have the energy to fight the barrage of hatred that I was experiencing.

I’d name names of specific people who did these things to me, but at this point, I don’t care. I also think that those closest to me at the time, I’m sorry to say now, were most likely also responsible for the online attacks. It’s a sick realization (or theory) to even write down, but I no longer have my doubts given the personal vitriol and details about my life that were thrown into my face.

Phew.

That was a mouthful, and here I’m writing memoirs to you.

I guess I wanted to start somewhere with these memoirs, and the point in which I was a more public person seemed like a good place to begin.

With all that said, I’m going in the other direction — with each post, I will open myself up to you a little more, share tidbits about myself, and sketch a picture of who I am now. Of course, that’s an impossible task, as when I will be writing these things, I will be changing. Hell, even since I began writing this short piece, I’ve already changed.

There is also so much change going on in my life at the moment. It has become tumultuous, but not in a bad way. As most of you are aware, I am heading to the Northeast (again) to begin working at Harvard. It’s a short-term job (only for the summer), but still it will be much time away from my beloved partner, my home, and my dogs.

We *just* returned from Maine where we sold our wonderful cottage a few days ago, and I am packing up to head to Boston on Friday. Luckily, I will be flying back every other weekend, but I imagine there will be many moments of loneliness, something of which I have not been accustomed to lately. That said, loneliness is an old friend. When my partner was away in Afghanistan on a deployment, I lived with her, alongside dread and terror, for one long year. Shortly after he returned, thankfully fully intact, he left for The Netherlands, so I began splitting my time between D.C. and there. While it was a wonderful life to live, it was not without its complications, especially when it came to loneliness being at my side. I did grow accustomed to my loneliness, and I did fill my days with work, friends, and lots of fun. But I’d be lying if I told you that nighttime was easy. Each night I went to bed alone, I felt this gaping hole in my chest. As I lay down to go to sleep, I would always feel deeply out of sorts. I slept restlessly, waking around the time I knew my partner was getting up for work. I’d send text messages, wishing him a good day. Then I’d try and rest a bit longer, tossing and turning for at least an hour, until I drifted off before I myself had to get up for work.

As we all know, the Northeast from Baltimore is not nearly as far away as The Netherlands was geographically to D.C.! That said, I imagine, it will take time adjusting to the separation again. Of course, once I do get into a good routine, seeing friends there, going out, being busy at work, it will be time to come back home.

But that isn’t until the end of summer. For now, the beginning has yet to start.

I leave on Friday for Providence.

I’ll write you another “memoir” about that soon.