Why I Hope You Eat Your Words
It’s a balmy 18 degrees today in Northern New Jersey. After the last few weeks of temperatures ranging in the high 7’s- single digits- the “ping, ping, ping” sound reverberating across my upstairs window as the icicles melt down the pane isn’t quite as annoying as it would have been, had I not had to wear two sweatshirts to bed for a solid two weeks. We hadn’t realized when we purchased this 200-year-old, former Lutheran parsonage that the bedroom we selected to be ours because of the beautiful, front-facing windows and the yellow built-in bookshelves didn’t actually have a radiator at all. We’ve resorted to a very high-tech electric heater, and extra clothing in February rather than give up the view, the walk-in closet, and a pesky woodpecker who routinely taps on the glass at 6 a.m.
This week didn’t go as planned at all, as things often don’t when you have a young family and jobs that require you to set foot outside of your backdoor and put on actual pants with buttons and shoes that aren’t fur-lined. Our oldest was ill and relegated to her room for several days while we slid bowls of soup and smoothies across the floor to her pale face, glowing with Harry Potter parodies on YouTube. I was supposed to have an uninterrupted streak of hours to write and finish a big project that has been haunting me for the last five years of my life but instead, found myself eating pieces of buttered toast on the kitchen floor, scrolling through social media, and wondering if what I have to say really matters that much, anyway. So I thought I’d explain a little about where the concept of this newsletter came from.
I’ve heard people use the phrase, “eat my words,” often enough for it to inspire images of someone with a fork-full of Arial fonted proclamations they made in their teens and twenties but it never fully landed as a pivotal event that could also be nourishing until the last few years. When one eats their words, they are admitting that the things they were so certain of at one time, were, in fact, wrong. Or that they had changed and evolved into something else that others might not necessarily agree with. Or, (scandal) , that they may even regret it now, and not believe it at all. It has shameful connotations; as society often does when eating is involved.
But, what if it didn’t?
What if the act of eating one’s words was celebrated because it indicated that, you grew? What if we approached it as if it were an indication of maturity? What if the phrase could turn into something else entirely, in which we set an elaborate dinner party to toast to all of the shit we got wrong and then went dancing in the new freedom we found, instead of shamefully hiding in corners because we evolved?
I’m not a dancer. And I’m not good at admitting that I’m wrong. What I am is a recovering evangelical who has, through a series of circumstances, become convinced that there is so much healing in the act of eating your words about all the things; faith, marriage, family, career. That there is no shame in admitting you were wrong; so much so, that I want to reclaim the term as something you share around the table with friends. Preferably over a good bottle of Sancerre.
It’s my hope you do the same.
The things that have helped me Eat My Words This past week are as follows:
Poetry. Mary Oliver, Padraig O’Tuama, Seamus Heaney, Wendell Berry, Joyce Harjo. The dredges of winter-turning-spring feels like just the right time for the kind of poetry that writes about how change can be beautiful.
May Lindstrom’s Blue Cocoon. I’ve talked about this already but you haven’t invested in grown-up skincare, please do it. This smells like snow with the promise of something brewing just underneath the soil.
Alison Roman’s, “The Stew,” went viral for a reason. I can’t stop eating it-and feeling good about it.
Joy the Baker is not only one of my favorite bakers, but one of my favorite humans to follow on all the socials as well. Her, “Let it Be Sunday” blog is a perfect Sunday morning read.
I’ve been curating my books- the ones I have, the ones I have on a list on Audible, the ones I have on a list from the library, the ones I need to purchase. I average about 3 books a month- would you be interested to see my stack? Check my Instagram this week to see what’s on the docket for February.