How Can I Explain?

And do I even need to? Part catch-up, part re-introduction, and part reflection on the necessity of the public announcement.

Watching another email land in my already overflowing inbox, I wonder for the 692nd time (once for each missive I left unread) how to address the sudden change in my employment status. Should I set up an automatic response warmly thanking the sender for reaching out while subtly indicating, in the politest way possible, that it is unlikely they will hear back from me? Do I post some vague Instagram story saying I need to take some time away and hope that no one asks any follow-up questions? Or perhaps, hope that they do…

At the time, I had sent myself into a self-imposed exile of indeterminate length while I processed the change from “writer” to “no longer a writer first and foremost.” It wasn’t quite a breakup; there was no severing of ties per se, but there was definitely a feeling of transition. It felt messy and imperfect and mournful to me, and I was certain no one wanted to hear about that.

When a couple breaks up, there’s a kind of online ritual that we all observe from afar. Assuming they’re not celebrities, there’s no expectation of a joint post publicly announcing the split. Normal people don’t have publicists helping them craft perfectly banal platitudes designed to halt rumours and maintain reputations. However, there are certain steps everyone is expected to take to indicate to those who might be watching them: “My world has changed.” Profile pictures of the happy smiling couple are quietly swapped for solo photos, posts get archived, someone gets a wild haircut—maybe with bangs, maybe a wild colour, maybe both. And we all nod our heads solemnly at our screens as we scroll, turning to our partners or roommates and spreading the word: “so-and-so has broken up.”

Eight months ago, I had no idea how to explain that my contract with ELLE Canada was over and that I had no idea if or when I would be writing professionally again. I had started a new job as an English Teacher and I was torn between a feeling of excitement and foundering. I didn’t have the proper language to articulate that I felt like I was succeeding and failing at the same time. I also wasn’t entirely convinced that my urge to publicly explain or update people on my life wasn’t cringey or a result of some baseless self-importance. And yet, at the same time, I wasn’t mentally or emotionally ready to cut ties with the industry that had given me so much.

So, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to explain from the beginning:

In August 2023, I made the difficult decision to leave an in-house reporting job at a large media company. I knew I was extremely fortunate to have an increasingly rare full-time employee position, but when I closely examined the work I was doing, I knew that it wasn’t the kind of writing that I had set out to do when I started my career at 21. The industry was rapidly changing around me and I needed to start thinking critically about the life I wanted to build moving forward. I didn’t foresee being able to do it from where I was currently sitting.

The idea of going back to school to get my teaching degree largely came from a desire for a life that had built-in security in a way that media never would. I took a year to work freelance while doing the requisite volunteer work for my application. Freelancing was brutal and I have nothing but respect for my friends and colleagues who make it their full time jobs. You’re never not working and oftentimes, you are hustling to the sound of crickets (or maybe that’s just my experience). I started working front desk at a physiotherapy clinic to make some money to help cover rent and groceries.

And then ELLE came along…

Landing the ELLE Canada contract was one of the biggest thrills of my life. To my knowledge, I was the only West Coast contractor at the time and it opened the door for some of the most incredible interview opportunities and connections. At the same time though, it was entirely remote so my life remained quite normal. This duality was my first real taste of the inauthenticity of social media that I’m still grappling with today. From the outside, I’m living a sort of media fantasy and from the inside, I’m still the exact same in every material way that matters. I kept my job at the physio clinic until I started school and then I worked for ELLE while taking classes. My friends tell me that before they knew me, I had a reputation as the girl constantly online shopping during lectures because that’s what it looked like when I built round-ups from the front row.

When it came time to share our “whys” for becoming teachers, my classmates would share stories of their family legacies, their desire to work with children and youth, their unwavering passion for education, and I would feel like an imposter when my turn rolled around I danced around the explanation that I wanted a job that guaranteed stability and balance (comparative to media) so I could build a life with my husband. Mercifully, the longer I spent in the program and the more I got to know my incredible and inspiring friends, the more my “why” shifted.

The turning point came during my practicum, when I took over my first Grade 8 English class and spent 10 intense weeks building relationships with students and learning alongside them. Them learning poetry and Indigenous culture through novel study, and me learning what an incredibly fulfilling job teaching can be (and how there are a million ways to feel like you’re not doing enough). I was using my brain in a way I hadn’t since my undergrad and I could feel the passion and creativity that had been slowly waning for the past two years start to return to my body. I was uplifted by the knowledge that I was contributing to my community in ways that weren’t tied to consumption or capitalism. I was heartened to be making connections with people who liked me and cared for me beyond what I could do for them. And I started to unpack and reflect on all the ways I was falling out of love with media.

I graduated from the program in July and spent the month of August writing for ELLE and looking for a teaching job to start in September. As luck would have it, the weekend before school was set to start I got offered a full-time contract in my teachable subject at a school close (but not too close) to home. On the same day, literally hours after accepting the job, I was told by my editor that the funding for my contract was being reallocated. It wasn’t personal, but it felt like a rejection. I had a vision, most definitely a naive one but nevertheless, a vision of working as a teacher and a writer. I imagined being selective about the things I spent my time writing about, only spotlighting local brands and creators who inspired me; using my voice to amplify projects and initiatives that are making a positive difference in Canada. So when it felt like that opportunity was taken away, I deflated.

I have had experiences in the media industry in Vancouver that have felt like I was being pushed out. Most of which I am not able to talk about publicly (at least not yet). This is not a unique occurance, and I know many of my friends in the industry can relate, though they also may not be able to say so out loud. That said, these experiences have perhaps made me sensitive and I took the end of my contract as a blow to my self-esteem and a reflection of my value as a writer.

Now, eight months later, I have decided I’m ready to step back into the community that I so unceremoniously exited in shame. I went to my first media dinner earlier this week and sat with friends and colleagues I haven’t seen in years and earnestly told them that I felt like a failure or a fraud sitting in my place at the table that I wasn’t totally sure I deserved. Much to my relief, they all shared the same response: that I didn’t need to be on a masthead to be a writer or a journalist. That I had more than earned my place there, and that they would all be excited to see me start something on my own.

Which is why we are here.

Nobody is going to seek you out and hand you the validation that you’re looking for. No one is going to tell you that it’s okay, to breathe easy now, your place is secure and you deserve to be here. You have to keep showing up, even if you feel like you’re not enough. Eventually, things will click into place and you will understand that chasing an ideal is nowhere near as fulfilling as creating something.

Even if no one reads it (though I hope you do).

If you have made it this far, thank you. I am forever grateful.

This Substack is my dream magazine, my corner of the internet to realize all of the stories and inspirations that have flooded me during this eight month hiatus. I have spent a great deal of time combing back through my archive and determining which stories I am truly proud of and want to take with me into this next chapter. As it turns out, stepping away for a while was the best choice I have ever made. I haven’t felt this level of creativity in a long time, and I can’t wait to share it with all of you.

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