You’d think I would have learned by now. I’ve been doing this long enough.
A few weeks ago, I shared an email about something that happened online – a video that Brian and I created on YouTube that went viral, a video that raised a few angry keyboard warriors from the inside of their woodworm cellars.
I write these diary-style emails to you as a way of sharing what real life looks like.
I write these emails to you because—selfishly—your reading them lightens my load. When you reply, it feels like I have a friend. A friend I’ve never met. A friend who finds solace in my words. Connects with me.
But after I sent that last email… guilt hit me like a truck.
Was I burdening you with too much?
I swallowed back the ever-present fear and pressed send.
As usual, a mass of people unsubscribed.
Fuck. That stung. It always does.
But then, the responses started to come in.
Messages saying, “Me too”, “Thanks for making me feel normal”, “You’ve got this, Liz”. Those blow me away every time.
Amongst the positive titles in my inbox, however, there was one e-mail that blinked at me.
The title said, “Can I offer you some advice?”
Oh God.
I opened the e-mail.
It was from a man in California, a businessman who confidently told me that he had many successful businesses. He was really successful.
“I signed up to hear about New Zealand things.
To receive a random email where you share your struggles with YouTube trolls feels unprofessional.
Please don’t take this the wrong way, I just want you to know that many people who signed up for this e-mail do not want to hear about your personal life.”
What the?
Thud. Slam. One humungous kick to my already-churning-stomach courtesy of David Beckham’s left foot.
Every impostor ladened gremlin that lives in my head, walked out into the arena of my mind, shouting. Celebrating. Each carrying a bottle opf scotch under one are and a converter heater switched to full under the other.
And my God, did they make the most of that space.
“When will you learn, Liz?” They sneered. “What were you thinking, Liz?
“People want New Zealand content. REAL content you moron. What an amateur and a little tiny insignificant toss-pot you are.”
Me. When I meet people who think I’m normal but can’t see inside my brain
I can tell when something affects me badly because I don’t share it with Brian.
When it’s a 50/50 deal and I’m hurt but still have the strength to laugh, I share it with Brian.
This e-mail was different.
The feeling I felt was complete and utter shame.
Here we are building this business, creating content about New Zealand, making podcasts about New Zealand, asking people to sign up to our newsletter about New Zealand, and here I was sending heart-opening, tear-jerking, personal emails about my feelings. My failings. My bits.
Everything I had ever previously written flooded my mind.
My mum dying.
My dog dying.
My dad dying.
Me dying when I had to give a speech at my sister’s wedding when all I wanted to do was crawl under a sink and hide.
Fuck.
Instead of sitting down with a wad of paper and writing my thoughts down for 45 minutes, or doing a meditation for 45 minutes, or going for a walk and talking to myself… instead of doing all those things, which I know work, I did what the gremlins wanted.
I let them win.
I closed my computer and told myself I would rethink this whole e-mail sequence.
I would write posts about how to drive in New Zealand.
What to eat in New Zealand.
I would create a whole new sequence with affiliate links and products, and I would keep it uniformed and straight. Proper, and professional.
No more raw, teary, heart-wrenching, begging-for-attention emails from me.
No.
The man was right.
Hurray!!
Only he wasn’t.
He very much wasn’t.
How do I know this? Because of the way I felt every time I went to write one of those informative New Zealand could-be-written-by-Chatgpt emails.
It felt wrong. Grubby. Cheap.
Dishonourable to my authentic self.
The man was wrong.
It’s taken me three weeks to come to this conclusion. To share these words:
I will continue to write to you.
I will continue to share my heart.
I will continue to keep it real.
Because here’s the truth:
There are people out there who only resonate with you.
There are people out there who will never agree no matter how hard you try to convince them.
There are people out there who need to be somewhere else with someone else, listening to someone else, following someone else’s work. Being somewhere else.
There are people out there who are simply not for you.
And that is ok.
If every Milk Tray box contained only crunchy, paralinely chocolate, it wouldn’t be Milk Tray—it’d be Ferrero Rocher.
It’s fun being like everyone else isn’t it??
My 20-year-old daughter, Tess, recently signed up for a fitness programme run by two women.
She paid $200 for a year subscription, which offers daily workouts, inspirational tips, quotes, menus and a bunch of other stuff to feel and look gorgeous, inspired and strong.
Guess what she did after purchasing her membership?
She dove deeper and found a podcast that these two women also produce.
Then she dove deeper still and found an episode where one of the women talks about losing her mother to cancer.
She listened to the episode and came to me afterwards to talk about it. Told me how her hero was feeling about losing someone she loved dearly to cancer.
“It was just like me when I lost Marmar”.
My point is that when you invest in someone, when you resonate with someone, when you are drawn to someone, you want everything of that someone.
All of it.
All. Of. It.
Not just the coffee creams.
Quote that we both need to remember:
Stop trying to please everyone.
Stop doubting that your feelings, your thoughts, your dreams, that hug, that longing, that brightness inside you—isn’t needed.
It is. Deeply. Urgently.
It is needed by the right person.
Remember. Your shimmering parts will feel the most vulnerable.
You won’t be receiving emails from me about how to fill in a New Zealand tax form.
You will, however, be looking into the heart of someone who feels safe to be vulnerable when she writes to you.
Find your person.
Find your people.
Find yourself.
And never let that self go.
Yours wishing-david-hadn’t-married-victoria-and-was-in-love-with-me-instead
Your friend,
Liz x
You have just read:
You have just read an essay that I first shared with my Front Row readers. If you would like to join me and thousands of other wonderful souls whom I call my close friends, it would be an honour to have you.
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PS: Here is our latest podcast where Brian and I share some very exciting (and a bit scary) news. I’ll be telling you all about my reasoning behind this huge adventurous move in the next email. Warning. It will contain feelings. Our BIG news.
My bestselling book is available in all formats, including the very magnificent and highly-produced-by-Brian audiobook read by yours truly. You can get the book here.
PPS: You’re unique and you’re different, and I love you x
